


Into Understanding

by AdelphaHighbrow



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: All will be made well, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anne tramples his poor heart, College, F/F, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, poor pining Gilbert, young people breaking their own hearts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelphaHighbrow/pseuds/AdelphaHighbrow
Summary: “Oh, Anne!” Phil exclaimed. “You took Gilbert Blythe’s virginity then immediately proceeded to tell him you would ‘always be his good chum’ the summer before you got to college, and now you’re not even speaking to each other!?”Anne buried her face in her hands and groaned piteously.“You are my new heroine! Let’s have a toast.”In which Anne Shirley-Cuthbert's determination to be a "woman of the world" comes at a great price.





	1. Ad Scientiam

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of an AU fic set in the same time period. I do not mean for this story to be entirely "cannon compliant" as I don't see Diana ending up with Fred Wright in the show (not would I want her to). This is merely a little "what if" that I conjured up that could exist in a parallel universe to canon. I hope someone might enjoy it as much as I have. Right now only one chapter is planned to be explicit and I will label it when the time comes.

It was in the spring on the cusp of a new century that the soon-to-be graduates of Avonlea School caught their first sight of the Redmond College campus. Ms. Stacey, Mrs. Andrews,  Mrs. Pye, and Mrs. Boulter chaperoned the small group of students to take a tour of the school that by fall, they planned to call home. Though Anne Shirley-Cuthbert had a few weeks by now to mourn the fact that her dearest bosom friend Diana would _not_ be joining her in these honored halls, she still felt the pang of impending loneliness with each new rapture this exciting place introduced her. Charlie Sloane, Moody Spurgeon, and Gilbert Blythe made up the boys of the group while the ladies party consisted of Ruby Gillis, Josie Pye, Jane Andrews, Tillie Boulter, and Anne. The entire company of ladies stayed in the boarding house Prissy Andrews called home these days. The boys stayed in one directly across the street.

Muriel Stacey had gone to great lengths to organize the trip, too aware of the scrutiny with which the Progressive Mothers Sewing Circle watched her. She had every intention of ushering as many students that showed an inclination for it into higher education. Mrs. Andrews had expressed concern of the unknown regarding Prissy’s enrollment one year previously and with her being the leader of PMSC, Ms. Stacey invested in her support. Ms. Wearing, a dowdy young matron with dark brown hair and thickly black framed round, spectacles, lead the group to many of the campus’s proudest locations. They visited the nearby park, and Anne raved about the spring flowers. They visited the library where Anne couldn’t decide between waxing poetic or being rendered speechless. They walked through the corridors, stopping in front of the doors of lecture halls in session, wherein Anne lingered, enraptured by the lessons of the English professor, the Philosophy professor, and the History professor, respectively. Even in the Math and Science department Anne seem to find a renewed interest in Geometry, fending off Gilbert Blythe’s teasing with the defense that it would be useful for Astronomy. Ms. Wearing was nearing the end of her patience by the time Anne asked about Botany courses.  

On the last night of their three day visit was a clam bake being thrown by the freshman class and the prospective students were invited. Anne had just turned seventeen and like the other girls, wore her hair up. On the train leaving Avonlea Josie Pye had mocked Anne for wearing it only half up because, as she explained, she looked “far too little girlish for college”. Since then, Anne had allowed Jane to help her make her hair more sophisticated, settling for a loose bun at the nape of her neck that gave her a soft volume framing her face. For the clam bake she wore a white button up blouse and a dark blue cotton skirt that showed off her small waist. Even Josie Pye had envied her small waist. Nothing was going to stop Anne from making her best first impression with the Redmond students. They would remember her when she was a lowly Freshman this fall and she wanted them remembering an intelligent, charming young woman who was college material— _not_ a common yokel, or worse, a ninny.

Prissy Andrews led them to the clam bake after they met the boys at the gate. Prissy was much changed! The quiet, sad girl from Avonlea schoolhouse who had almost thrown her life away on the first man make her an offer was now positively bubbling, with a knowing glow. It was very inspiring for Anne to see her revitalized after choosing the pursuit of knowledge over tradition. Would Redmond have the same effect on her? Would she look this cultured and confident in a year’s time? The event gave the mothers an opportunity to speak with the campus chaperones and that gave the girls a chance to chat freely. Anne’s appetite for stories was stronger than her appetite for food and Prissy’s circle of friends were on full form.

“Do you have a debate club, too? What are the requirements to join? Are underclassmen allowed?” Anne gushed.

“Uhh, yes we do and… I don’t know. However! The social clubs have outings at least twice a month! Next month we’re having a boating party at the lake.”

“Do you all have scores of beaus?” Ruby beseeched them. The older girls looked at each other knowingly.

“Well, Darling, what’s the point of college if you don’t have at least three options for any given evening?” Dorothy Reed said flirtatiously.

“Bah, says you! Three per semester, yes. Three at a time? Playing with fire,” Prissy objected.

“Three per semester?” Ruby asked in awe. Even Josie Pye looked intruiged.

“You have to understand, Dear. This isn’t Avonlea where you only know eight boys your whole life. This is a place to broaden horizons. Dare to try new things and shop around for your best option.” The younger ladies giggled but the older ones just smiled coyly.

“Oh, that reminds me, Prissy! Alice Nichols lost her cap in the boathouse last weekend with you-know-who!” Dorothy was interrupted with a loud shush from Prissy.

“My _sister_ is here.  With my mother, I might add.” This piqued the Avonlea girls interests. Was Alice Nichols not supposed to be in the boathouse with said you-know-who?

“Sorry, Prissy. They’re almost Freshman themselves. I guess I figured-“

“Nevermind!” Prissy wanted the conversation over. The subject changed and Anne shuddered when she took in all of the beauty and community around her. In a few short months she would be here as an enrolled student. She marveled at this, smiling at the trees that guarded them when she caught Gilbert Blythe’s eye from across the green. He was standing with some male students and everyone seemed to be taking to him immediately. Gilbert appeared to be in his element here, after working and waiting so long. The thought made her smile fondly at her popular friend. He himself had been musing on a similar admiration for Anne looking in her element. The smile he gave her in return was meaningful and Anne found herself blushing and looking away.

Later in bed the girls wouldn’t be able to stop chatting about their day, their hopes, and combing over every detail of the trip. Sweet Tillie became more quiet as the girls planned their future life together on campus.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” Jane asked Tillie.

“It’s just… hearing you all… I’m not going to be attending this fall,” she said wistfully.

“What? Why not?”

“But you’re mother came and everything.”

“Of course you are!” came the simultaneous cries of outrage.

“My father said he can’t afford to send a girl to college. My mother only came to save face in front of Mrs. Andrews,” was her reply. All the girls fell silent, feeling the discomfort between Jane and Tillie now.

“Don’t be downcast, Tillie. You’ll be married before any of us and how you’ll get to gloat then,” Josie Pye said in a rare act of charity.

“Not before _any_ of us,” protested Ruby. “Diana Barry’s wedding is before the term starts!” and they all had a giggle, saving Anne.  Before their conversation could go much further Prissy Andrews and her blonde friend from the clam bake, Sarah Clarke, came into their room in their dressing gowns, candles in hand. Prissy looked worried. She approached Jane’s bedside and knelt.

“Precious, I need a word with you. You won’t tell Mummy what you heard earlier, will you?” Prissy implored.

“Dorothy Reed is a rude girl. You mustn’t think Prissy or the rest of us are as pert as her. Honestly, we aren’t at all disreputable,” Sarah added.

“What do you mean?” Jane seemed confused by this address. Prissy would have been glad but she knew that Jane could repeat the words she heard earlier innocently and instantly be seen through by their mother.

“Dorothy was rude when she talked about our friend at the boathouse. You have to understand that we are all perfectly respectable and discreet. She never should have said those things in company,” Prissy explained. “Mummy wouldn’t understand because she married Daddy so young and- well, she doesn’t understand modern womanhood. What it’s like to be out in the world. The expectations and the opportunities.”

The girls were all listening eagerly, their understanding still obscured.

“You mean about beaus? Seeing them unchaperoned?” Jane tried.

“Yes, darling. That sort of thing,” Prissy was relieved but to her dismay, Sarah Clarke pushed the issue farther than was required.

“And that talk about caps. Not all of us are like that! Your sister and I and most girls here would never take a thing so far. We’re not so casual about it! We only do the other things that won’t get us into trouble-“

“ _Sarah!_ That’s not necessary.”

“Caps? Other things. I don’t understand,” Josie Pye spoke up.

“The caps are these things girls can get from this one nursing student. But I say it’s too risky. Better to sticking to things that don’t run the risk of making a baby,” Sarah explained. Prissy shot her friend daggers as some sort of realization dawned on the girls in the room.

“Sarah, will you tell us everything you mean? I want to understand. If you don’t tell us I’ll go to Mrs. Andrews myself,” Josie threatened, a hunger in her eyes.

That was the night that the girls lost a large part of their childhood innocence. But they were mostly all seventeen, about to enter adulthood and as Sarah Clarke saw it, forewarned was forearmed. Wasn’t it better to learn about these things from older girls than to learn some evening when a boy got fresh and she wasn’t sure what to do? And besides, to hear them speak of it most of the girls at college were doing it. In the end Ruby interjected.

“I don’t think I could give much more than a kiss to a boy before I was married. I am saving myself for my future husband,” she said boldly. Sarah laughed and Prissy just looked worried.

“There are plenty of girls like you here, Ruby. There really is nothing to be ashamed of. Some girls never shake off their small town small-mindedness and others are more academic about it. I am going to be a B.A. in three years. A woman of the world. I don’t mean to be treated like a virginal bit of crumpet for the first farmer who is looking for domestic _livestock._ I’ll know what I want when I marry, and I’ll know if my husband and I are a good match,” Sarah finished whimsically. Even Josie Pye seemed in awe.

“And… the boys don’t mind? They would marry a girl like that?” Tillie asked.

“Redmond boys do, anyway. They expect it. You’ll find that men don’t wring their hands, worrying about whether or not they’re “damaged goods”. They’re more worldly here. But of course, discretion is paramount. Ladies are discreet. _Not_ like Dorothy. Beware the gossips, as with anywhere else. Prissy, can you imagine that George Wallis would have given you the time of day if you hadn’t already had a fiancée before coming to Redmond?” Prissy could laugh at that.

“No, I imagine not. He’s such an intellectual, he told me he would have been too frightened of corrupting me until he’d heard,” she smiled fondly at the reminiscence of her first meaningful, adult relationship.

To say that the girl’s heads were spinning would be an understatement. After they all swore on their lives not to tell any of their mothers, the older girls left and the room was silent. None of them could think of anything to say to each other and they laid in silence until the early hours but they all left Kingsport changed the next morning, a little wiser to the ways of the world than before they’d left. As for Anne, she imagined her future here. Would she meet her ideal man? Would she be his ideal woman? She pictured having a love affair with a poet, a musician, maybe even a political radical. Maybe all of them would teach her something about life and herself. And when she met the man of her dreams she would be more prepared for him, and not be the blushing maiden who couldn’t stand side by side as his equal.


	2. Different Kinds of Unions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne speaks with Cole and Aunt Josephine, prompting more inner turmoil.

            Back in Avonlea, school was out of session for the summer. Not many days after her last day of class in the little schoolhouse Anne had gotten a visit from Ms. Stacey, announcing that she and Gilbert Blythe had both won the Avery Scholarship- $250 a year towards Redmond! The clamor that arose was only half-heartedly quieted by a glowing Marilla. Matthew and Jerry learned of her victory shortly after, coming in at the sound of the ruckus. It was with watery eyes Marilla suggested a special dinner in her honor, inviting the teacher who had nurtured her education and her classmate who shared her honor. The Lacroix’s joined them, naturally. Not even Sebastian toasting her and Gilbert as “the scholarly couple” could dampen her spirits.

            The summer moved on and many evenings were spent among the Avonlea youths at  casual picnics, birthday parties, and even a bridal shower for Diana Barry. When the shower was over she and Anne walked arm and arm through the orchard and down towards the woods they used to traverse and tell stories.

            “ Anne, you have to promise me that you’ll never love any Redmond girl as much as me,” Diana pleaded.

            “Diana! I could never. No one will ever replace my bosom friend. You will always be my very favorite girl. If anything, it’s I who should be teary-eyed because I know you love Fred Wright more than me,” she stopped walking to tell Diana truthfully.

            “Oh, Anne! I love him so much. He has the tenderest heart of any man I ever met. He treats me like I’m a treasure too precious for this world.”

            “And so you are, Diana. I couldn’t part with you for a man who felt any less.”

            “Don’t talk like that! You’re not parting with me. We’re… we’re just growing up is all. Could you imagine this day four years ago, Anne? We were little girls then, learning about monthly cycles. Play acting how we would meet our future husbands. Now… we are marching forward into womanhood. And the things that await us there are becoming a reality.” Diana spoke as though there was a sweet secret she was carrying. She was the picture of a bride. As sweetly as Diana spoke, Anne couldn’t help but feel there was something in Diana’s voice that was whispering about some sweet secret that left Anne on the outside. As though Diana were walking ahead into some noble realm and was closing the gate behind her. A sense of loss and loneliness welled up inside Anne’s chest and she tried to quell it. It made Anne quiet the rest of her walk home after they parted.

            Josephine Barry had come in for Diana’s shower but was returning to Charlottetown that weekend. She brought with her a letter from Cole Mackenzie and an invitation for Anne to come visit her as soon as Marilla would allow. She wanted to hold her own little intimate celebration dinner for her before she went to away to school that would double as a going away party for Cole who would be heading to Europe soon to study art. Marilla saw the sense in Anne accompanying Ms. Barry to Charlottetown and staying for two nights. When Anne saw the tall, lean Cole in the foyer she ran into his arms for a hug.

            “You’re going to Europe without me! Some fiancée you are,” she teased exuberantly.

            “I’d figured you’d forgotten that old pact by now, Anne. Afterall, it was  only insurance should we end up alone. By now you’ll have any number of boys lined up. Say, your hair looks spectacular!”

            The three of them went to the drawing room where Josephine could only get in a few words an hour as Cole explained his plans and Anne asked questions.

            “Living as a pauper in Paris would have to be more romantic than living as a queen in a Spanish castle! How exciting. Just- just _scouting_ for other artists and building a brotherhood. Studying at the Louvre every day, living off bread and cheese and wine. Tell me all about Andrea. What is he like?”

            “ _Marvelous_ painter!” Ms. Barry contributed. “I’ve watched his skill grow for years with oil paint. I have some of his work in the hallway upstairs. It’s from his early days, but it’s remarkable. The raw talent in him- He puts so much wonder in his eyes. I love the way he paints eyes.”

            “He’s been a professional artist since he was fifteen,” Cole bragged.

            “How old is he?” Anne asked of Cole’s travel companion. There seemed to be a brief moment of tension with that question.

            “He is twenty-eight,” Cole answered, glancing at Ms. Barry. Anne caught the look. “He came here from Italy when he was nineteen with a group of Ms. Barry’s friends and periodically comes to visit. He never makes it to the summer soirees because he prefers to winter in the south of Europe. Either the Mediterranean or France where his friends have a house. I’m going to be tramping around with a _real_ gang of artists, Anne.”

            Anne was in awe. She was barely jealous of Cole for all the joy she had for both of them. She was going to _college_ to fill her cup. Maybe she could go with him to Europe one day when they were both established. Maybe she would meet one of his artist friends and have some type of love affair and they would contemplate philosophy and history in some café near Versailles. Maybe they would quarrel over a finer point of ideology and he would come back in the morning with a fresh croissant and bottle of champagne for breakfast and apologize profusely. They kiss passionately in some shabby lane where a nearby vagrant played the accordion…

            Later Cole came to her room to confess everything he couldn’t in company.

            “Anne, I want you to meet Andrea some day. He’s incredible. He’s so brilliant and talented and… He is so _beautiful,_ Anne. And he says he loves me.” Anne broke into tears.

            “Cole, you can’t know how happy I am to hear it. How many nights I prayed for you! For all of this! That you would fulfill all of your ambitions and find a wonderful, beautiful man to love you the way you deserve. I feel so fulfilled just now and none of this is for myself,” she choked out. Cole hugged her and couldn’t escape shedding a tear or two himself. It never occurred to him in his life that he would have people who loved him like this. So earnestly, so truthfully. Anne was the purest soul he knew and he loved her like kindred.

            “Jo is happy for me. She offered to pay my way but I wouldn’t hear of it. I’m a man now and part of the pride is making my own way. Me and Andrea together. But in truth, I don’t know how supportive she is over our… relationship,” Cole confided.

            “Why ever not?”

            “She thinks he is too old for me. Maybe… maybe too experienced. But, Anne, I don’t care about that. He _cares_ for me. So sweetly. He wants to see me happy, wants my success. You should hear him. In his letters he calls me his little husband. I don’t care about who came before. If anything it just makes me trust him more. He’s lived a life, made a way for himself, and he’s chosen _me_.”

            Anne contemplated all of this. It sounded like Josephine Barry had known Andrea longer than Cole had… And all this about “experience”.  It seemed she couldn’t avoid these conversations now that everyone was setting sail.

            “Well she sounds like she supports you enough to want to pay your way,” she offered.

            “I know… I think she is worried that it won’t work out and I’ll be stranded. But I think she’s worried over nothing. She doesn’t know him the way _I_ know him,” he explained in a serious tone.

            “Anne… I’m not a boy anymore,” he confided as though he had been carrying the burden of this fact around like a millstone.

            “I know. You’re eighteen-“

            “No. I’m… Andrea… We- Well, we’ve made love, to put it frankly,” he said.

            Anne’s eyes widened. She hadn’t really thought much about that possibility. She knew Josephine and Gertrude slept side by side and lived as lovers do. She hoped Cole would have that someday… But she never imagined more than passionate kisses occurring between such lovers. It never crossed her mind to imagine her friends lives _that_ intimately.

            “Forgive me… If this is rude, you must tell me so. But… how does that work exactly? Between a man and a man, I mean. I know about men and women,” she blushed.

            “Oh _do_ you?” he laughed “And did Gilbert Blythe teach you?” Anne’s scornful look stopped him. “I’m only teasing. I just assumed, you know. Him being a sailor when he was sixteen and all, it was as much a joke about that as about the two of you” Anne paled. That had never crossed her mind. Cole could see her eyes darting back and forth as though she were just puzzling something out. He could have kicked himself. “Hey! I’m sorry. I know that,” he forced the lie out, “that there is nothing between you.” He began, blushing as though he were explaining his sex life with his sister, how men came together and that brought Anne back to the present.

            “…Oh.” Her eyes were wide. Would there be no end to her education on this matter lately? And none of it from Marilla. Poor Marilla! She’d never experienced the bliss of physical love, it seemed. Suddenly her heart was broken for her mother figure and she became very introspective.

            “Cole, it seems I am the only person in our circle who will still be… under loved this Christmas. Diana is getting married and she is always giving Fred these honeymoon looks… I suddenly feel very childish next to all of you,” she finished lamely.

            “Not at all, Anne! You’re going to college. You’ll meet so many people there. Avonlea… it was never the place that people like you and I were going to find it. There are very few kindred spirits in a town so small. But in Kingsport? _Look_ at you. I wasn’t flattering you when I told you how spectacular you look!” Anne smiled and groaned as she wiped a tear away. “I’m serious! I would never lie to you. I will always tell you when you are looking under perfect form, and give you my advice. And I mean it when I say that when you got here today, you looked like a vision. Stand up,” he commanded, crawling off her bed and pulling her to the edge. She stood up, her nightgown reaching her ankles.

            Cole cinched his hands on the sides of her waist, drawing the fabric together there. Anne yelped, then giggled shyly. “You’re so slender and your waist is impossibly small. Men _love_ your type of figure. The sharp curve drives them crazy. Your arms and legs are so long and graceful. I’m sure you’re going to tell me how gangly you feel, but I’m telling you how graceful you are to the onlooker. You have a long, swan-like neck. The structure of your face is so delicate. You always had a lovely face, but now the jaw line to your chin is even more feminine. You have very alluring lips,” he tapped them then dragged her over to stand in front of the full length mirror. “A perfect littlenose, and great, big, expressive blue eyes. Your complexion is as milky as the moon and with your auburn hair-“

            “My hair-“

            “Your _beautiful hair_ looks so becoming when you wear it up in a soft look. I think it best suits you when it’s gathered at the base of your neck. Don’t ever pull it back too severely, Anne, you look the picture of a Greek Goddess when you wear it soft like you did earlier. You must have had a comb in it to keep it full around your face, didn’t you? And you can hate me all you want for saying it, but I swore to tell you the truth, your hair against your complexion with all of those freckles- _Yes,_ I said it- is so uniquely beautiful. You stand out in any room. I mean it. You are a vision. You only need to believe it. If you won’t trust the mirror, start trusting the looks that I know young men throw your way. And if any word out of your mouth is a protest, I’d rather you remain silent,” he finished sternly.

            Anne had another opportunity to well up tonight and she stayed quiet, just allowing herself the vanity to rest in the high praise of this man whose life was devoted to aesthetic. He was a precious friend to her and she wished him all the love and happiness she couldn’t even hope for herself. He left soon after and she went to sleep, deep in consideration of all of the new lessons adulthood had for her, and lamented that they weren’t in any books she knew about.

            It occurred to her the next morning that maybe there was a chance overlooked and sought out a private moment with Josephine Barry. She waited until she knew she was in her library to accost her.

            “Ms. Barry?” she entered meekly.

            “Young Lady,” she looked up at her visitor. “You are no longer my little child friend. It’s time you gave up and called me Jo. I consider you a peer now. Well, at least as much as a woman of eighteen can be with a woman approaching ninety.”

            Anne smiled and approached her meekly, feeling like a nun kneeling before her Mother Superior, ready to take her sacred vows and enter into covenant of a life devoted to holy pursuit. “Jo. I wanted to see if… I know I am going to sound very bold and I hope if I’m rude you will tell me straight away and I can apologize and never broach this subject with you again. I would never want to threaten our friendship, as it is worth more to me than gold.”

            “Out with it. I know your scholarship won’t cover living expenses. I had hoped to assist my great nieces with their higher education but seeing as how Diana has chosen another path, of course I want to help you.”

            “No! Oh, no. I haven’t come to ask you for financial assistance. I… I want to ask for your spiritual guidance,” Anne bowed her head.

            “Spiritual? I was never much of a theologian, Anne-Girl.” And Anne did kneel at Jo’s feet, placing her hand on the arm of her chair, eyes shining up to her benefactress with humility and hope.

            “No, I want to ask you about… about things between you and Gertrude.”

            Josephine was no less confused. “What about Gertie do you want to know?”

            “I want to know… well, what did you feel when you and Gertie came together for the first time? Did you feel any different? Were you spiritually married first? Or did that matter to you at that point? And what prepared you for that- that special event?”

Josephine’s eyebrows reached higher and higher as Anne’s questions piled up. After a moment of incredulous silence where Anne was bracing herself to be thrown out Jo burst into peals of laughter. Anne didn’t know how to respond so she waited.

            “Oh, my. Pardon me. Are you thinking you might be falling into a Sapphic love affair?”

            “I’m not sure I know what that means, but I haven’t got a prospect with which to have any kind of love affair. My questions were more philosophical in nature,” she admitted. Josephine laughed and patted her hand as she rose from her chair. She went to a shelf and started looking for a book.

            “Anne-Girl, maybe it’s time you put that voracious appetite for reading to use.” She handed Anne a book containing the works of Sappho. Anne thumbed through it, having a good idea what contents might be inside. She was a bit off.

            “O- _Oh._ Well, I didn’t really mean to know about women specifically… But I wouldn’t rule it out! Any knowledge on the subject would benefit me. You see, I am just on the cusp of trying to decide some things about myself. What kind of woman I want to be. And this aspect of womanhood seems to be pervade my consciousness lately,” she confessed. Jo did not laugh at her again.

            “I understand perfectly, Anne. And I am honored you came to me with these questions, though I haven’t got much perspective on the affairs between men and women. I do, however, have a respectable library.” She took a few more books out of her shelf. Anne’s eyed the books like a starving man being sat at the table of a feast. “You like poetry so you may have this one. It’s a compilation of various poets on the subject… In the effort of discretion I would rather you take this one with you. I can order another one more easily than you can. But peruse them all before you leave if you’d like.” Josephine placed her hand on one book on the shelf as though she might be thinking better of it, the spine displaying Sanskrit text. After a moment she pulled that book out as well and placed it on the top. “This one is mostly pictures. It was one of Gertie’s. You may find it as tasteless as I did but you _did_ want something educational?”

            Anne nodded eagerly. “Yes! Thank you so much Ms.- Jo! Thank you! I can’t repay you enough for this.”

            “As for your questions,” Jo became somber. “No, we were not yet in love that first time. That came after. It was part of what watered our love and helped it to grow. It built… a trust between us. She was a vivacious flirt and I know she wasn’t lonely before she met me. As for myself… I had paltry encounters before her. But what I remember that first time was the feeling of… the desperate feeling of a need to explore what we sensed between us. It helped us make sense of our feelings. I knew that first night… I knew that even if nothing ever came of our initial attraction to one another, that if it fizzled out and she left me, that I would regret the not knowing. That I could never regret that which I felt at the time was so necessary to me.” She seemed a thousand miles away in that moment. “As for how I felt afterwards? I felt… that I had only thought myself a woman before. But that night… was my baptism into womanhood.” She shook her head out of the trance. “Forgive me if I’ve scandalized you or upset your breakfast,” she smiled gently. Anne rushed to her and kissed both of her cheeks, thanking her for her vulnerability and her guidance. And with that she took her stack of books out to the garden because it was, after all, a glorious day outside.


	3. A Bud Reaped Too Early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is short but the next one is going to be worth it ;) And again, I will label any chapters as explicit to forewarn you.

            It was an effort to hide the book of poems from Marilla. Anne was afraid of bringing it outside her bedroom at first, but the call of the wild won out and she couldn’t resist reading some of those sensual, evocative words in places like Hester Gray’s Garden, Dryad's Bubble, or Lover's Lane. In the brook valley below Green Gables, she felt, reading the poems under a birch tree surrounded by goldenrod and purple aster, her world was teeming with a sort of bounty of life. It was swelling all around her and inside her.

_“_ _Her nimble tongue, love’s lesser lightning, played_  
_Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed_  
 _Swift orders that I should prepare to throw_  
 _The all-dissolving thunderbolt below._  
 _My fluttering soul, sprung with the pointed kiss,_  
 _Hangs hovering o’er her balmy brinks of bliss._  
 _But whilst her busy hand would guide that part_  
 _Which should convey my soul up to her heart,_  
 _In liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,_  
 _Melt into sperm, and spend at every pore…_ ”

            She murmured the words under her breath, gasping at the next couplet. There was no doubt that this poem was educational but she decided that she didn’t think all the words were worthy. Some were downright ugly and coarse. But she couldn’t stop reading it. She read some of the poems over and over, closing her eyes and imagining the figure of a dark haired Adonis leaning over her, the muscles of his shoulders and back rippling as he guided her to lay down in the meadow. Anne sighed, her head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. Opening her eyes, she considered following her fantasy through the way she did in the privacy of her bed of a night. She did so want to explore the release of all of these feelings in the beauty of the outdoors but it was far too risky. She settled for hugging herself and taking a few more moments to try to still the racing of her heart.

            She lingered in the valley, plucking an array of beautiful wildflowers along the way, her mind racing through a hundred fantasies that seemed to have been budding for years now but with no tangible image for application. She thought about the girls at Redmond. It seemed the ones that she most identified with had already made their secret debuts into this “new” season. If it were only Diana and Cole she could bear it. Even Gilbert… What Cole said seemed to make too much sense and she couldn’t believe it had never occurred to her before. He had come back from overseas so matured. The forlorn feeling that arose at this thought was smoothed back down with the reassurance from herself that she felt only rivalry with him. No wonder everyone at Redmond already seemed to like him. He exuded a self-assured confidence. The feeling of being outranked in this arena brought a sting to her eyes and she pushed it down angrily.

            When she got back to Green Gables Marilla was working on her new wardrobe with Mrs. Lynde. Mrs. Rachel was doing most of the talking as they cut patterns from the rich fabric that would make up new clothes for her, more befitting a college woman.

            “ _There_ you are, Anne! I sure hope this fits. We were just looking at your old dresses from your first autumn in Avonlea and we marveled at how you’d grown. I think  Marilla even shed a tear if I’m not mistaken,” Rachel declared.

            “Oh, pish posh,” Marilla denied. “Your stories are getting to be as sentimental as Anne’s.” Rachel chuckled in response.

            “Well, maybe I’m her frame of mind from laboring on this dress for her so long. You won’t be the most glamorous girl at Redmond, Anne, but you’ll be the most sensibly dressed, that’s what. Though I do think it a pity when one considers that Ruby Gillis won’t be going with you,” she  mentioned off handedly. Anne stopped in her tracks.

            “What?! What do you mean, Mrs. Lynde?” Marilla looked between them and seemed annoyed with Rachel.

            “Anne, I’m sorry. I’d only learned about it myself-“ Marilla tried.

            “Ruby Gillis is laid up at the Gillis farm with _consumption_. The poor girl has been under the weather for weeks and they finally called for the doctor. They went to a specialist in Charlottetown and everything. God help the Gillis family, they're all in complete denial. Of course, it’s up to Divine Providence, that’s what I say.” But Anne was already up the stairs to stash her book and came straight back down, heading out the door. Marilla called out to her,

            “Anne, be careful. It won’t do for you to catch anything. Don’t stay too long. Anne! I’ll start supper without you!”

            Anne made a beeline straight for Ruby’s home where she found her stitching on her porch with a shawl dropping from her shoulders. Sweet Ruby! Anne rushed to her side and sat beside her, reaching to clasp her hands.

            “Anne,” Ruby started dully, with a hint of despondency beneath her exhaustion. “I’m so happy to see you.”

            “Ruby, I heard. I heard, Ruby,” she began helplessly. “You will come to Redmond when you recover? Please say yes.”

            “I… I’m not so sure, Anne. I don’t know… The doctors said they don’t… have much hope. And they don’t know how I got it. I don’t understand any of it at all. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, Anne,” came her weak reply.

            Anne suddenly had a pang of self reproach. How had she not noticed Ruby’s health declining? She had been coughing for weeks but then so many people had summer colds. She looked ashen now. Ruby couldn’t truly die? It wasn’t possible. She was just about to turn eighteen years old. Her nascent season of ripening was upon her. They were going away to their future lives _together_. Anne searched her stunning face, now lost of it’s color. _No._ This wasn’t happening.

            “I won’t accept it. I don’t. Ruby, you are about to come into yourself. You have so much ahead of you! You are going to get well and then come and join me. There’s such a long, exciting stretch ahead for us both, Ruby, and you are going to meet it with me. I will drag you forward to meet all of your dreams if I have to,” demanded Anne.

            Ruby’s tears spilled freely now. “I really only had one, Anne. I’m not like you,” she lamented. “And Anne… Remember when I thought I was gone over Leonard Kimball?” And then Morgan Bell, thought Anne with small amusement. “Anne, I was wrong. _Herb Spencer_ ,” she said his name wistfully. “He really loves me, Anne. I realize now that every other boy was a silly infatuation. Herb- He doesn’t accept it. He swears he’ll marry me and… Anne I do so want to be married. I want marriage and babies and,” she stopped to wipe her eyes during a pitiful sob. Anne sobbed with her and held the pretty coquette to her breast and stroked her hair.

            “You’ll have them.  You’ll have it all. Oh, Ruby you darling thing. You’re going to get better and you’ll be the most resplendent bride. You’ll see. Herb will have to be held up when he sees you coming down the aisle towards him. You’ll be such a spector all in white with your misty veil-“ Anne painted a picture Ruby couldn’t bear anymore.

            “ _Stop,”_ she sobbed. “ _Please_ stop. I can’t…” and her weeping stopped their words for what seemed like an hour. Anne stroked her hair and cried with the girl. Eventually Ruby straightened up and changed the subject to the petty goings on of Avonlea, her moment seeming to have passed. She spoke gaily on subjects such as what a lady of their acquaintance wore to church last Sunday and what her older sister had overheard in the general store. They talked of how one of their neighbors had repainted their barn and who had to put down their old plow horse. The evening turned to twilight and Ruby ran out of things to talk about. Her lustrous blue eyes shone in the starlight and for a time Anne allowed herself to believe that Ruby might really recover. She kissed Anne’s cheek and thanked her for her visit, making her promise to come again.

            “Anne, you should know that you’ve been my dearest friend. When you come back you’ll help me with my story, won’t you? Just like when we had story club… Anne? Do you think you could put me in one of your stories one day? Only don’t give me a tragical romance? Maybe just a nice one…” Anne walked home in the starlight, passing the old graveyard. Would her friend be here before her first year at Redmond was over? It crushed Anne to think of maidenly Ruby beneath that cold earth while their own lives were starting to become so full. All the years of story weaving, eyes shining, describing her most fervent wish, to be loved. And now she might be robbed of all of it. When she retired to her room that night she wept for her friend. She wept for Diana, too, who now seemed to be beyond arms reach. As strange as the image was, Anne couldn’t help but imagine standing at Ruby’s grave with Matthew and Marilla, seeing Diana on the other side with Fred Wright at her elbow. They were flanked by Cole and Gilbert and Prissy Andrews in her vision. She said a prayer and tossed in her bed, her mind searching new avenues of lost opportunities and of feeble Ruby fighting against a fate that was too strong for her soft spirit.


	4. Enter Gilbert

            In the weeks that followed, many of Ruby’s girlfriends visited her alone and as a party. Even some of her former beaus came to sit with her, Herb Spencer notwithstanding. Other evenings Anne spent with her family or with her friends, making the most of their time together before autumn came, bringing with it so many changes. One morning spent with Jane Andrews proved to be one of the most eventful of Anne’s summer, though only she would remember it that way. Jane wanted Anne to come upstairs with her to view her new wardrobe.

            “I insisted on a new parasol for Redmond and mine is _much_ finer than Prissy’s. See? I can’t open it indoors, of course, it would be bad luck- _Oh!_ Look at these stockings. Feel them! They’re real silk. I have two new pairs of boots but I don’t mind because I got a pair of slippers, as well. I didn’t even have to beg Mother for any of it. She’s so excited about me going to school. Billy will get the farm when he marries, of course, so it’s just us that get to go to school and mother really wants us to do it right. He _says_ he doesn’t mind but if you ask me I think it bothers him that they’re spending the money on us. I can understand it, I suppose, after all if Prissy gets anything I get cross if I don’t get it.” Jane lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I _know_ Prissy has satin ribbons for her corsets. Come here,” Jane pulled her towards Prissy’s travel trunk, already half packed for the trip back to school.

            Anne glanced over her shoulder, not comfortable with going through another’s intimate possessions. Jane was in a fervor to display all of her ornamentation and understood what Anne did not: That there is no private property in a house with sisters. Jane rummaged through her older sister’s underthings and came across a little round tin, out of place because there were no other toiletries in the trunk. Jane plucked it curiously. It was labeled “ELARCO British Made”. Anne gave a weak protest over the breach but was ignored. Jane opened the tin and pulled out the contents by a string. The string was connected to small sea sponge, the size of a small apple, held in a silk net with the attached string.

            “Ew!” Jane put the sponge back and closed the lid. “Now I have to wash my hands!” She headed to the corner where her wash basin sat on a table.

            “What is it?” Anne queried.

            “Remember? Prissy and Sarah Clarke told us about _caps and sponges?_ ” Jane whispered the last while scrubbing her hands. Anne’s eyes widened. The device sitting two feet from her might as well have been the holy grail, holding in it all of the mysterious powers of life and, well, the prevention of it. She took out her handkerchief and picked up the sponge, examining it as she put it back where they found it. It seemed simple enough to make. Was there a trick to it? Not to hear the Redmond girls speak of it. It sounded suspiciously simple. Jane came back to where Anne stood but before she could close the trunk there was a creak of the door.

            Billy stood in the doorway, standing well over six feet tall and every inch of him muscle. He was sweaty from the fields, wearing a sweat stained work shirt and suspenders.  “Mother wants to know if your little friend is staying for lunch. She wants a word with you downstairs.” Jane rolled her eyes and knocked past him, calling out for Anne to wait for her there. Anne turned away from him, making a pretense of folding the garments Jane left on her bed. The floorboards creaked near her and she turned her head to see Billy sauntering behind her, uncomfortably close.

            “None of this for you, I bet. The Cuthbert’s could never even afford to buy you a corset,” he placed his large hand on her waist. If he had put both his hands there they would almost meet in the middle. Anne swung around and slapped him, eyes flashing dangerously. She had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He only took one step back, smiling.

            “Billy, if you don’t leave-“ she began before he reached up and placed his hand behind her head, half cradling it and half gripping it. “What do you think you’re doing?!” She punched his chest but she might as well have been striking a brick wall. He released her and took another step back. Now he was almost laughing.

            “You like to get angry,” he said knowingly. “I can make you angry…” It was impossible to tell if he was making a threat or an offer. Before Anne could find a reply Jane returned.

            “Billy, get out of our room!” She shouted as though they were both still ten years old. He slowly sauntered out and Jane slammed the door. It was fortunate for Anne that Jane was still happy to do all of the chatting and displaying because Anne was pensive. How queer that so many encounters lately had robbed her of her speech. How torturous for such an expressive, effusive soul to suddenly be laden with unmentionable revelations and occurrences. Unfortunately, it seemed that lately she was losing people in whom she could confide. She reflected with frustration that it must be appointed to a young woman to guard many of the crosses she had to bear, lest she become despised in the sharing of them.

            After the peculiar run-in with her old tormenter she again set her mind to the future. She found the general store carried sponges like the one she had seen and that it was easy enough to prune down to shape. The silk netting and string took a little longer but presented no real challenge. With more frequency she began solo experimentation in her room at night, abetted by her considerable imagination. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert imagined a lot. She imagined what it might be like to reenact the scenes illustrated Gertie’s picture book. Mostly, she had found the images repugnant but when her Handsome Ideal arrested her thoughts on those nights she found she could happily adapt to some of them in theory. Those experiments were pleasant enough but she still felt lonely when they ended. She also felt they wouldn’t do much good in preparing her for Redmond.

            Of course, plenty of evenings Gilbert Blythe would come to Green Gables, asking if she was free for a stroll. Those were, honestly, the evenings she enjoyed the most. Gilbert shared her enthusiasm for academia and it seemed only with him was she able to meet an equal with whom she could share her goals and hopes. They discussed their plans for college mostly, but they shared so many things in common. He enjoyed pastoral beauty almost as much as she did and they spent many of their walks hunting for lilies, cowslip, or other wildflowers. They plucked apples and talked about ideas and their future vocations. Sitting in Hester Gray’s garden with Anne relaxed with him in the twilight.

            The sleeves of Gilbert’s blue shirt were rolled up just below the elbow, displaying the tone of his arms, earned from years of hard labor. His dark curls hadn’t changed much through the years, and neither had his hazel eyes. His strong jaw was more pronounced, his voice deeper. He was taller, too, of course and with his broad shoulders he towered over the titian haired beauty when they were standing. His strong yet gentle demeanor had not changed, nor his inherently cheerful nature. It was possible that Anne alone was fully educated in Gilbert’s look, for she was the only one who had opportunity to see the occasional anticipating, boyish aspect to his eyes.

            “I’m afraid I haven’t found any more focus with age. The more I learn, the more I want to learn. I think that’s why teaching is for me. You get to explore so many different subjects. Fondest to me, I think, must be Literature and the English language but I find myself fascinated by science and history and... Oh, Gilbert, can you imagine being on an archeology expedition and being the first human in thousands of years to touch an artifact that was a common household item to some Roman Noblewoman?” Her hair was softly pulled back with loose strands framing her face. 

            “I’m not sure they have Archaeology courses at Redmond,” came his quiet reply. If he was staring at her, she didn’t notice.

            “Maybe I’ll pursue it as a Masters at another school,” she shrugged.

            “You think you would want to continue your studies after graduation?” his interest was piqued.

            “All I know is that I never want to stop learning. The only appeal immortality has is the opportunity to fully explore the earth in its entirety and to learn _everything,_ ” she explained. She couldn’t see Gilbert’s expression soften as he watched her, counting her freckles in the dark, memorizing the way her features looked while in wonder. “It’s daunting when I think of how I little I do know,” she looked down from the stars at the troubling thought.

            “Some say that’s the beginning of wisdom…” Empty platitudes were all he could come up with when he was with her like this. “Is there something on your mind, Anne-Girl? You seem far away all of a sudden.”

            She looked at him guiltily, blushing. For years he’d been counting the blushes she gave him, studying them for meaning.

            “I think… I should head home,” was her only reply. As they walked back Anne slowed down to a snail’s pace. She avoided Gilbert’s eyes all the way, picking apart a bulrush mindlessly. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he would hear it. Could she really do this? Was this the right thing to do? She thought of Gilbert as one of her dearest friends. With Diana drifting away, he _was_ her dearest friend. The thought of being anything more with him… well, a wall went down when she considered it. Anytime she imagined what it would be like to have him for a husband she recoiled as though burned. It wasn’t a viable future. It wasn’t an acceptable train of thought. She’d always admitted that he was handsome, but never that her nervous system seemed to reset when even his name was mentioned. It didn’t do any good asking herself _why_ that should be the case. It used to be because she loathed him, and later because they were in competition together. Now that those excuses had scattered like leaves on a breeze she felt so vulnerable.

            She could enjoy his company easily when they were teasing one another. That was safe. But when he was open and vulnerable with her she panicked. Perhaps that vulnerability could be conquered if she could pass through this threshold before her? Maybe then she would feel easy and confident with him… and more importantly, with the man she hoped to meet some day that matched her fantasy exactly. How much easier her friendship with Gilbert could be then! When she was the future version of herself she would always be able to meet his tender looks easily, self-assuredly! But how would she go about it? She supposed it was practice. Maybe if she practiced being nonchalant and fearless she would be. When she questioned how certain she was about the whole idea, she reminded herself how wrong it would feel with anyone else. That must mean he was the right person. If Cole was to be believed, Gilbert had experience in this kind of thing. He was clearly capable of doing this type of thing with women he had no intentions for. He was the class flirt, the most popular boy in Avonlea. He probably took things like this in stride. And she was his friend and academic counterpart, so why not? It could be as meaningless to him as it would be to her! She ignored that still small voice whimpering " _Not_ my _Gilbert"_ and fixed her mind on this safe image of her friend. This would require that she steeled herself for any possible outcome. If he told her that she just wasn’t pretty enough it would actually be a relief! The matter would be settled and she could move on. She just had to take the leap!

            “Gilbert?” she began meekly before clearing her throat for a more decided tone. “We’re friends, right?”

            “I hope so,” he watched her intently now. Why was she so quiet tonight? What was on that puzzling mind of hers?

            “If I needed help with something, something that was important to me, would you try your best to help me?” she kept her eyes on the twisted green stem in her hands.

            “Of course. What’s wrong?”

            “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… about how things are going to be at Redmond and… well, lots of things. I’ve been thinking,” she was faltering. She had to put her wall up and ask him from the other side of it. “I haven’t done everything I would like to do before I get there. There’s something that I’ve just _got_ to do before I go. I don’t think I can go to Redmond otherwise. I won’t,” she met his eyes determinedly.

            “What is it?”

            “Gilbert… will you please take my virginity?”


	5. A Gentleman's Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the brevity but this was very difficult to write. I would have extended this chapter but it took a lot out of me to find Gilbert's POV, to be honest. Back with more soon.

        “Gilbert… will you please take my virginity?”

        Now he knew what it felt like to be in a head on collision.

        “ _W_ -What?” he managed somehow without any air in his lungs.

        He fixed his gaze at her worried, determined, gorgeous face as she chose her next words, feeling as though in a split second he had, through no effort of his own, gone from longing for this untouchable goddess across an impassable chasm to already _being inside her_. The jolt of being plucked up and placed into his fantasy future, a future he believed he would have to work tirelessly for _years_ to even have a slim hope of realizing, left him reeling. 

        “You would be doing me a tremendous service, Gilbert. I would never forget it,” she said solemnly.

        Not of his own accord did he move closer to her, stopping his twitching hand from reaching out to her. He had had erections in front of her on rare occasion, and felt the familiar panic about how to conceal it. He shook his head to stop it's dizzy spinning.

        “Anne, I-,” he began breathlessly, “Why are you asking me this?” 

        She averted her eyes from his piercing stare, growing hot under the confusion she felt for the expression on his face just now.

        “Because I _don’t_ want to go to college without… _knowing_ ,” she cried uncomfortably. She was losing her resolve to be cool about this. “So will you? Please?”

        The please was what finished him. He congratulated himself later for not fainting. He blinked slowly and swallowed, trying to steady himself.

        “Anne, I thought… Don’t you think you’d like to wait? Until we can be married?”

        Her eyes shot back to his face in astonishment.

        “Married? _No_ , Gilbert. I’m not- I’m not proposing to you.” _We?_ He’d said it as though he _wanted_ to marry her. Suddenly she was losing control of this situation. She needed to regain it swiftly lest this become a shambles. “I just want,” she shook her head, “to do _this!_ So I don’t,” she sighed in frustration, “feel like a phony at college. I thought maybe you could help me.”

        He was no closer to feeling the earth beneath his feet again.

        “Do you love me, Anne?” he rallied his courage to ask.

        “ _No!_ Of course not! Only as a friend,” she reassured him.

        Ah, there was the earth again. Crashing into him at such a force he thought he’d crumple into it. Her words reverberated like the deafening aftermath of clanging cymbals. It took him a long moment to recover. How easily she had killed him, he thought dismally. Anne was suddenly afraid when she saw how white he’d gone, how angry he looked with his jaw clenching that way.

        “Why are you asking _me_ this?” was his bitter reply. He could barely meet her eyes, grasping for some hope at dignity.

        “Well,” the helpless strain of her voice began, “You’re my dearest friend. I trust you implicitly,” she tried to lean on her prepared words but she was stumbling. “And it’s not as though it’s an effort to find you _handsome_.” She wrung her hands and turned slightly askew from her in her embarrassment. He stepped closer to her.

        “I don’t know, Anne,” his voice was so quiet now. “I always thought I would wait for my future wife.” He wanted to tilt her chin back towards him but thought better of it. It turned out he didn’t need to because at those words she stared at him in astonishment.

        “But I thought!? I was so sure you’d done it before.”

        Would there be no end to the shots fired tonight?

        “What made you think that?!” She had clearly been considering him intimately, and at some length to reach such a wild conclusion. Had her barriers been built under misunderstandings? Her mouth opened and closed before she shook her head.

        “Nevermind, then. Of course if you feel that way, Gilbert, I would never try to change your mind. And I hope you can forgive me and try to forget I asked you. I will see if Jerry is amenable,” she turned to make her way home but was stopped by Gilbert’s hands on her shoulders, spinning her back around to face him.

        “Wait a minute! Are you just going to go around asking every man you know until you find a willing participant?!”

        With a red face, barely restraining her temper she spat her reply,

        “ _Of course not!_ I’m not-! I don’t know what you think I am but I’m-“ How _could_ he? What kind of mistake had she made tonight? “I’ll have you know that if I were _desperate_ I could have taken unwanted _offers_ from-“ she shook her head “other people. I only intended to ask _you._ I certainly don’t _want_ it to be Jerry but I had to think of _someone_ in case you rejected me. He seemed like a better option than Cole,”

        She was interrupted by his hands cupping her face gently but urgently. He was stroking her cheekbone with his thumb.

        “Don’t ask Jerry,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. That was out of line, I just, I was worried is all. I’m sorry. Please don’t ask anyone else. I’ll do it.” She allowed herself to keep his frantic gaze. Finally she nodded in assent but he was slow to release her.

        She slowly started walking again and he fell in beside her. Now that she had her partner secured she needed to take the steps to ensure that the encounter went smoothly and without consequence. Part of this would be timing.

        “What are you doing Friday night?” she asked gingerly.

        He needed to do his laundry that day and help Bash with the animals. If he had time, he had told Charlie Sloane they might go fishing.

        “Nothing.”

        “Would you like to go walking with me then? We could find a… secluded place.”

        “Yes. We could do that,” he answered carefully, not wanting to endanger their arrangement that still felt too precarious. When they reached the gate of Green Gables he didn’t know what to do or say. Right now it seemed safer to let her take the lead. She gave him one of her old frightened school girl smiles and told him to come on the appointed date at seven. He took his time getting home, going over ever word and gesture of their conversation, searching for more meaning.


	6. The Fatal Apple's Rare Flavor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit Content

       The days leading up to Friday did not go without anxiety for Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. She practiced inserting her sponge, each time with a sting of mortified fear that something would go wrong and she’d have to get a doctor to remove it. What if hers wasn’t effective because it didn’t come from an official source that had processed it for this purpose? At least she had picked the optimal day on her calendar, and she would ask Gilbert to withdrawal.

       Gilbert. The more she thought about what would occur between the two of them later that evening the more she experienced a sort of impatient panic. Their conversation had been a turning point and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. She pictured his face as she’d seen it a hundred times before, the different smiles he gave her. Teasing, genuine, and something else… The other looks he gave her at times… The look he’d given her when she asked him. A flush of heat rippled through her and she had to shake it off.

       “Anne!” Marilla called. “I’d like you to bring Matthew some lunch. He’s down in the lower field.”

       The distraction was much needed. She found Matthew and sat with him, nibbling a scone as he broke for a light meal.

       “Matthew, part of me doesn’t want to go. Everything will be so different soon! There’s a version of me that wants forever to be the little girl that you brought home from the train station. To be leaving my home- leaving you and Marilla- it took me so long to find a family and now I feel robbed of the twelve years I lost with you now that I’m going,” she confessed with unshed tears.

       Matthew once again was put in the uncomfortable position of trying to find words to express himself.

       “I won’t pretend that we won’t miss you. Marilla and me both. But I know that we both… are proud of how far you’ve come and how much is ahead of you. Neither of us had much time to go out and do the things that you’re doing. It feels right to watch you doing them. You’ve got so much… that you can do. It feels right… that you should be able to do it all. We know you’re not a little girl anymore. But I guess when we see you all grown up, with your education done and all the things that will follow… I’ll always feel a point of pride. That you’re still our little girl.”

       Anne couldn’t stop the tears now. She stood up and threw her arms around Matthew’s neck and kissed his head.

       “Always. Always, always. Oh, Matthew, my first night away how bitterly I’ll weep!”

       The rest of the afternoon Anne busied herself with helping Marilla make preserves. There were no sentimental conversations in this quiet company but she still felt this was the last time she would be with Marilla in this simple, comfortable way. Everything would be changing soon. Would the next time they worked in this kitchen together feel different? Would Marilla be able to tell that she wasn’t a child anymore? Why did that thought seem to break her heart?

       “Are you expecting someone?” was Marilla’s query.

       “Hmm?” came her inelegant reply.

       “You keep looking at the clock.”

       “Do I? No, I just… Well I was thinking of going on a walk later. With Gilbert-” she shrugged. “ _If_ he came by.”

       Marilla smiled.

       “Did he say he would be coming by?” she hid her smile.

       “Oh, I don’t know. I think I recall him mentioning he might…”

       Marilla shook her head. The way she saw it, Anne was a child yet. But there was a part of her that wished Anne would pair up with the Blythe boy already. She told herself it was because it would ease her mind to know she would be looked after well all the way in Kingsport but she knew that it was because she agreed with Rachel Lynde’s assessment of the match. They were meant for each other.

       After dinner Anne rushed through washing dishes and Marilla told her to just let her finish the job. The girl seemed to be on pins and needles and she might break something. Better to let her go upstairs and get her primping done, she thought wryly.

       In her gable room, the flame haired girl once again placed her uncomfortable accessory in place, this time with purpose. Afterwards she washed and groomed her entire body, thanking Heavenly Father she didn’t have any blemishes, taking it for His ordination this sacred event. She styled her hair so it looked casual, lest Gilbert think she had spent too much time on her appearance. Later, she couldn’t have explained why she chose her delicate white cotton dress. There were certainly no _bridal_ connotations to tonight. This was something wholly separate from anything like a love union but a milestone in her life, nonetheless.

       Gilbert had arrived on the border of the Cuthbert’s property at around 6:30 so he loitered, taking his time getting to the house. He had invoked suspicions from his housemates by taking an uncustomary bath after a short work day only to spend an hour picking out his clothes. What if it rained? Would she like the spot he picked out? What if he did something too presumptuous and she called it off? He supposed that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world as long as she didn’t ask anyone else.

_It’s not as though it’s an effort to find you handsome._

       He had been analyzing their last conversation constantly. So she said she found him attractive, even if she didn’t love him. What he couldn’t understand was how a person with such romantic ideals could want to become intimate with someone they didn’t love. He wished he had discussed this with her more without irritating her.

_Gilbert. Will you please take my virginity?_

_Please?_

_You would be doing me a tremendous service, Gilbert._

_I would_ never _forget it._

_I only intended to ask_ you.

       Please, _Gilbert. Take my_ virginity. _Gilbert…_

       Those words. Coming from that mouth. Her blushes. Her eyes as she asked him.

_Take my virginity, Gilbert… handsome… only you…_

       “Well, hello, Gilbert! Why, don’t you look dapper this evening,” Marilla answered the door. Had he already gotten to the front door and knocked? Suddenly he felt ashamed to meet Ms. Cuthbert’s eyes. Was this the right thing to do?

       “Anne should be around here somewhere. It was her you came to see, wasn’t it?” Why was she giving him a knowing smile?

       “Um, yes. I thought she might like to go for a walk.” His face felt so hot. What would Ms. Cuthbert think of him if she ever found out? Or Matthew? He wanted them to respect him. Would both he and Anne be cast out of decent society if it got out? Maybe Anne had seen reason and changed her mind. Then they could talk about things and maybe she would be willing to let him court her properly. Then his train of thought was cut short when Anne approached the door.

       Her rich, auburn hair gathered low at the base of her neck framed her face so divinely. He had always admired her form in that white dress. She looked the image of a radiant flower, so delicate. Her eyes. What was she saying with them? She scanned him up and down. What was she thinking about?

       “We won’t be too long, Marilla. I’ll try to be back before it gets too dark.” She had already passed him, walking down the steps to the yard. Marilla was gone and Gilbert caught up to his companion swiftly.

       “I found something I thought you might like to see,” was all he could say after they passed through the gate.

       “Oh?” was her only reply. They walked in silence, both separately thinking of how easily their conversation came a few days ago. They might have talked about the courses they hoped to take at Redmond. In the past it was so easy to discuss their thoughts on ideology, finding commonality in their views for racial, gender, and economic injustice in society. He would support her on the topic of suffrage and she would listen with interest as he shared with her medical conventions and innovations he was learning about. She always had so much perspective on art and literature and he would find himself asking to borrow books that she recommended. They would even talk about the people of Avonlea, enjoying the compatibility they found in their opinions on the characters and goings on of their shared home. But tonight? Silence.

       He had only rarely the occasion to so much as hold her hand, helping her out of carriages and things of more benign nature. Now in a few minutes… He had practiced alone before he came calling, worried about what longevity she could expect from him his first time. Now he felt this had been wise because he was already rousing again in anticipation. What if he was too nervous to perform? What if she hated it? If it was too painful for her? What if she found his body lacking? He would do whatever it took to give her an experience she might enjoy.

       As Anne battled many parallel concerns about pleasing her partner, she found herself walking with him through the Haunted Woods to a spot she had never explored before. They passed through a hall of lofty spruces and firs, garnished with ferns along their path. He led her to the edge of a small valley, skirted with maples. There in the little grove was a wild apple tree. There was a basket under it with a blanket folded up inside.

       “I found this growing all by itself, a mile away from any orchard,” he explained.

       “It’s incredible,” she awed. “Usually wild apples are green and all but inedible but this one…”

       “They’re all tawny as russets with a dusky red cheek.”

       “It must have sprung up years ago from a chance-sown seed. But it’s grown and flourished here, brave determined thing.”

       “I’ll climb up and get some. They all grow high.”

       Anne went to the basket and found a nearby spot to lay out the blanket, noting how her fingers weren’t being quite so obedient. She fluffed her hair while he wasn’t looking and pinched her cheeks for a bit of color. While trying to arrange herself to look alluring, it was with bitterness she resigned to how unnatural coquetry came to her. When Gilbert reappeared on the blanket with the apples, he knew no difference. Grateful for something to do with his hands when he caught sight of her, he sat down next to her half reclined figure and offered her his bounty. Delicious, the apples had a white flesh faintly veined with red and a certain wild tang that no orchard-grown apple had ever possessed. They sat together quietly for a bit, both wondering if the other would make the first overtures.

       “Anne, can I ask you something without upsetting you?” he tried to prop himself up on his elbow and look natural, the way she did. “Why would you feel like a phony at Redmond, otherwise?”

       She gulped. She was worried about having too much conversation. Some was natural and expected but the more they spoke the more she might feel this was a mistake, that something might be said between them to damage their friendship. This was supposed to be quick and easy. Like a chore. Hopefully, a pleasant chore but utterly unsentimental.

       “Because after speaking to the other women at Redmond,” she tried to explain, “The things they told us… No one could take me seriously with my level of,” she blushed “inexperience. The women there are _worldly_ and sophisticated. They’re educated. They… I don’t want to play at being an adult. I need to feel like I belong there. I don’t want to go to classes day in and day out, learning about how the world works, meet interesting, accomplished people, all while internally feeling like some country waif who still blushes when the people around me are talking about mature ideas,” she explained to her lap.

       He’d never heard her say anything so stupid, saving for times she criticized herself.

       “You… you know the risks, right?” he began, trying to meet her serious blue eyes. She nodded.

       “It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve taken measures. And if you don’t… Well, measures have been taken,” she was flustered.

       “If you don’t mind my asking, seeing as how it would affect me too, what measures? I do have a bit of medical knowledge on the subject.”

       “There are these devices that women put in,” she was fully flushed now. “I have one. It shouldn’t get in the way. Mine is- I have this sort of sponge device. And I picked the right day. And if you,” she spoke a little louder to forge confidence, “withdrawal… It shouldn’t be any problem.”

       His eyes widened as she explained. Even hearing her talk about this made him feel hot all over, embarrassed and excited all at once. The twilight was reflecting pink and orange light on her hair now and he was entranced. If none of the aforementioned methods worked he knew he’d still not be able to turn back from this. He already had goose bumps as he watched her cushiony lips form those words. The sound of her voice, explaining her intentions with him… He let his eyes wander all over her and he felt his erection throb. She was a woodland queen in the dusk light. Perhaps she had never been as beautiful as she was right now. He would keep thinking that again and again through the course of things that followed. How was it that she could make him feel like a frightened child? What magic did she possess to disintegrate all of his nerve?

       He scooted closer to her, unsure of how to begin. He’d imagined touching her at least a million times but this was real and right in front of him. Right now it didn’t matter so much that she didn’t love him if she was this certain that she _wanted_ him, right? There had to be some feelings there that she hadn’t examined yet if it were true. After this there would be no walls between them anymore and it might be easier for her to see it. It might be going about things in reverse but with Anne nothing was ever going to come easy. He was decided that she would feel loved by him, feel as perfect as she refused to believe that she was. Maybe he could give her that. He was already getting so much out of this exchange, he wanted her to come away feeling as physically and spiritually satisfied as he would.

       His roaming eyes weren’t lost on his siren, and she explored him similarly, eyes lingering on the firm outline of his arousal below his belt line. He caught her staring and seemed embarrassed leaving her worried that if something didn’t happen soon it might not happen at all. All at once she leaned in towards him for what was the first kiss for both of them. It seemed to them both that the wind through the maples was just now making some sort of music for them. After the first, thrilling kiss she placed her hand on his shoulder scooted closer until she was flush against him. At this, he grew bold and wrapped his arm around her, keeping her tight against his body. The first kiss was sweet and made them giddy. There was no diminished return on the second or the third. He kissed her slowly, gently battling for dominance, happily willing to take turns for it. Her kisses made him drunk and he surrendered to the sensation, only occasionally insisting on her surrender for control.

       When her fingers tangled in the curls at the back of his head he began to nibble her lush lips between his own. At some point their tongues made contact and her low groan elicited a sigh from him. She pulled him on top of her and he felt his control slip. He began kissing her cheeks and her forehead, stoked by the way her dilated eyes watched him hungrily. Finally, finally, he was able to kiss one of his favorite freckles, the one on the southeast corner of her mouth. He went about kissing all of her freckles and moved to her neck. She shivered and he had to stop, nuzzling her with his forehead as he regained a semblance of restraint. When he felt he had it he returned his mouth to the delicate curve of her neck, his hand squeezing her waist, the other cradling her head. She was panting now and the sound of it made him pulse with need.

       He wasn’t prepared for her sudden, furious attack of his senses when she scattered kisses all along his jaw, grazing it with her teeth when she reached the point it joined his neck. She licked him there, occasionally making contact with her teeth, forcing out a husky grunt from him. All he could think was how he wanted to slow down but also speed up. His greed for her multiplied and he nuzzled their cheeks together as she continued her exploration of his neck. His knee was propped between her legs now and again he found himself unprepared when she took his hand and moved it to her breast, widening her legs so he could more comfortable fit on top of her.

       He gripped her breast gently through the fabric, testing the shape and firmness. He stroked her nipple through two layers of fabric, enflaming her further. He was utterly undone. Unable to resist, he moved his mouth to where she had placed his hand, continuing with his tongue and teeth what his fingers had begun, all with a dazed concentration. She broke their kiss to start unfastening her dress while he patiently kissed her modest cleavage but that patience was all too thin and he sat up to help her with the buttons. Between the two of them, they fumbled over every fastening and he replied to her nervous laugh with one of his own. Finally she peeled off the garment and her boots, leaving her in cream colored under clothes and stockings. He was too afraid to blink as he took in her creamy shoulders. He helped her with her stockings, running his hands over her long, smooth legs, not too dizzy to marvel at how lucky he felt. It was still light enough for him to see all of her beauty as she pulled off what clothes she had left. He was leaning back on his hands to give her space to disrobe and he sat frozen, taking in the image of her before him. She was so slight but shapely. Her slender shoulders, her resplendent breasts… Her nipples were already puckered, the deep pink color matching her lips, now red from his kisses.

       His eyes kept darting back to the curve of those soft, white, supple crests, trading attention for the expanse of her stomach. Her waist seemed so small in contrast with the swell of her breasts and hips. Her hips showed the outline of her bones but instead of looking frail she looked willowy and ethereal. And between her legs… He was feeling light headed. Between her legs was a delightful pasture of red hair. His jaw was slack and he felt the earth come to a sharp halt on its axis. His entire nature was commanding him to bury his face in this newly discovered thicket of _glorious_ red. Her long, lithe legs were locked together, bent at the knee as she reclined before him. He didn’t even realize that he was hyperventilating.

       “Am I…? Is there anything… wrong… with-?” he looked up at her exquisite face to see the fear etched there. All at once he realized how self conscious she had been, teetering on dread at his inaction. Before she could be allowed to think any further he crushed her body with his, exploring her curves and her mouth with a frenzied ardor that he managed to keep on the right side of forceful. He needn’t have worried about hurting her for she responded with such violence to his advance that he almost let go of his resolve and surrendered to her. But she was too much. Too magnificently ravishing and far too naked for him to do anything but touch her everywhere he could all at once. He had only just begun his first thirsting caress of her perfect breasts when she pushed him up to start yanking at his clothes.

       He couldn’t hide the elated smile as his darling, beloved Anne raced him in a combined effort to remove his clothes. The exposed feeling was drowned by the need that engulfed him. Only with her had he ever had cause to feel shy about his body but now as she traced his torso and arms with her hands he had this strange, spiritual feeling that he knew she would laugh at if he told her: In that moment he remembered thinking how grateful he was to be born a man and her a woman. He had never felt so _right_ before in all his life. There was no helping the cliché, but this was _heaven_. Had he ever felt so right before? He could never be the same now. Maybe Anne had been right, because in this moment he felt like a man in such a core, _natural_ way, and all he could do was marvel.

       He returned his mouth to her breast, taking her nipple between his lips and circling his tongue around it as he sucked. That was when he heard her first unbridled cry. He stopped to search her face and ask if he should continue but when he saw her eyes, saw the dark expression there with her furrowed brow and the part of her mouth as she chuffed he knew she hadn’t cried out in pain. His eyes darkened, fixed on her face as he twisted her nipple beneath his fingers slowly and she arched up into his touch. Well, this was fun. He continued to pluck _slowly_ at her nipples, watching her in fascination as she writhed wildly. She gripped the blanket in her fists and slid her legs together as he languidly tortured them, unable to resist making her continue to make those musical sounds from the back of her throat. He could have stayed this way for hours before progressing (and would have) but she was impatient.

       His radiant Anne bucked beneath him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him against her. He was unable to resist returning his mouth to the place his fingers had been as he let them explore her lower. He gripped her waist, stroking her ribs with his thumb, his other hand trying to unfasten her hair. She reached up to help him and soon her fiery tresses fell down around her shoulders. He curled his fingers into them, kissing a crown along her hair. He had dreamed of touching her hair for far too long to pass on the opportunity to worship it. He nibbled her jaw the way she had earlier as his other hand slid up and down the crest of her hip, inside her thighs, memorizing the way her legs curved up into her waist.

       “ _You’re so beautiful_ ,” he whispered near her ear as he stroked the tangle of her hair. “So _beautiful_ … Anne, you are _so, so_ beautiful.” He murmured it like a prayer with the hope that she might feel how true it was. Maybe it had worked because she was smiling now, with watering eyes. The sight made him choke up and he was close to crying now. He lurched when he felt her hand reaching for him below. Her fingers daintily traced the length of him and even the small contact made him emit a low groan, his eyes fluttering closed. She must have taken this for encouragement because she was smiling softly as she gripped him and began to tug the flesh up and down. He laid his head on her chest, angling to give her better access. Involuntarily, he released more small beads of moisture, huskily chiding her name to her hair as she stoked him dangerously, innocently. She bit her lip and scooted lower so she could explore his testicles, massaging them with curiosity. It was her turn to make him whimper as he clung to her. Suddenly his hand gripped her wrist, pulling her hand away as she explored his length again, circling her finger around wet tip.

       “I need- I need a minute,” he explained breathlessly. As he propped himself up by his elbows on either side of her he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. As he did he couldn’t stop her from running her hands down his muscles, down to his legs, stroking his bottom, his hips, his sides, back up to his chest and arms. He wheezed a dark laugh at the futile attempt to pace himself if she was going to go on touching him that way. When he opened his eyes, he made sure to lock with hers as he lowered himself to her auburn mound and kissed her there, slowly yet chaotically. He noticed the little silk string and, for some reason he couldn’t explain, it made him smile. It seemed to him like such an Anne thing to do, but he didn’t even know what he meant by that observation. He could only stare, transfixed at the holy ground before him, reverently stroking her. She gasped and opened her legs further, flooding at the baritone sounds of his enjoyment. Through hooded eyes she watched him in bewildered ecstasy.

       He ran his fingers up her opening, collecting the intoxicating balm and tasting it. She watched him close his eyes and inhale her scent, which only succeeded in producing more for him. He was moving so slow now, he looked almost drowsy. His thumb found the small bud buried between her folds and he sighed as he teased and circled it. Her reaction made him glance up at her face again, and he couldn’t decide where to look as he sped up his gesture. She was writhing and bucking again, and he was helpess to do anything but speed up. His tongue joined the work of his hands and as he sank into the bliss of her warmth against his face and he decided to test her depths with his fingers. He started with only one. She was, as expected, very tight, he observed while his heart fluttered. No sooner did his index finger brush the inner folds of her labia than she shuddered.

       “ _Gilbert,”_ she rasped as she combed her fingers lovingly through his curls. It sent a hot chill rolling down his body and he moaned helplessly into her, applying more pressure. He sped up the pumping of his finger then added another. He wanted to stretch her sublime gift to him in preparation. The thought of hurting her was unacceptable. He added another finger and continued swirling his tongue above them as she started panting rapidly. His eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that it would be this easy to make her come. The reality of her impending climax made him marvel that he must have been made for her and he felt gratitude. He was made to please her, and he would spend the rest of his life doing this if only she’d let him.

       “Gil, please,” she grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him up to her and he regretted that would prevent him from finishing her. He didn’t have long to feel sorry when she wrapped her legs around his waist. His tip was resting against her now saturated center and he felt his arms give out under his weight. She was gripping him across his shoulder with one arm and she cupped his face, kissing him with such fury that he felt he had briefly left his body. The little minx was grinding her hips down over him, forcing the tip in and he began shaking. He noticed that she was covered in a pearly sheen of sweat in his arms and he must be too because he was so flushed.

       “ _Please,_ Gil. I need you!” Did he faint? He seemed to have blacked out if only for a moment at the sound of her voice issuing those words. If he did she didn’t react to it because the next thing he knew he was sliding deeper inside her and she cried out loudly. He froze.

       “Are you alright? Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said in a moment of terror. She seemed to almost smile at his words as she murmured _‘I’m fine’_ and her only other reply was to continue thrusting her hips down over him. He tremored so violently as he continued burying himself into her depths that she did notice. With a seductive smile he had never seen before she took his trembling hand in hers and brought it to her lips. She closed her eyes and traced his fingertips across them before taking them inside her mouth. She lazily opened her eyes as she ran her tongue over them. At that he finally finished his first slow thrust inside her, pausing to take in the sensation of her total ensconcement of him. He dragged his hand down to her neck to rest tenderly there, stroking her throat as he basked in the way her warm, slick body was soothing the ache he had carried- The years old ache that she had caused. All those nights, all those times when she had kindled him without even knowing. She alone had invented this wonderful use for his body and now he was finally here with her. He began panting, still static inside her, the well of years of emotion coming to the surface. Their eyes never left each other as they both shed joyful, silent tears. She couldn’t stop the sob that escaped her as she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face him him, nuzzling him, encouraging him to continue.

       He moved in her slowly, the silk string not impeding his gratification. Nothing could now anyway. As she clung to him, wrapped tightly around him in every way possible he sped up his pace, reaching down to circle her clitoris again wildly. It seemed to be working because after a long measure of her delicious moans and whimpers she was panting rapidly again. He had been firm on the commitment to make sure she had an orgasm during this experience. He knew she would be disappointed if she didn’t and he wouldn’t be able to recover from disappointing her. He wanted to watch himself move in and out of her, saving this memory forever. He wanted to watch the way her breasts bounced under each crash of thunder. He wanted to watch her face as she came even more. And he did. It was he alone who got to watch her clamor in rapture, her flaming hair fanned out beneath her, cheeks tinted red, as he, Gilbert Blythe, buried himself deep inside her. It was the most religious experience of his life. He had been holding back for so long now and now he relinquished his control, chasing his own finish. He kept massaging her clitoris with her own moisture as he did, speeding up, as to not leave her waiting uncomfortably. He couldn’t have imagined the effect this would have. It seemed he had only protracted her own orgasm and he felt a new abundance flow out between them, a veritable stream, as she kept crying out his name with a scratchy voice. She dug her nails into his shoulder and convulsed, forcing him to finally yield to the magnitude of her loveliness, so unimaginable in its excess. Just in time he remembered to withdrawal and he watched as he spilled over her legs and hips.

       He rolled next to her, pulling her close to him in his delirium. He buried his face in her fragrant locks as he waited for his breathing to slow. They laid there so long with the moonlight was spilling over them, too euphoric to form any thoughts. Well, he could form some.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._ He thought on repeat. _You’re everything. You’re_ so _everything. I love you._ It seemed they were both numb with the aftershock and neither of them felt they could move. Finally he remembered with shame that he had made a mess on her because she reached down and ran her fingers through it. He sat up to apologize and clean up but before he could say anything she brought her fingers to her tongue and licked them clean, as though he were a savory sweet dessert. He watched her in bleary eyed amazement, and if he hadn’t already been wracked empty by her, he might have come again. His skin was still buzzing so he laid back down and cuddled her tightly to him, stroking her hair and kissing her face in sleepy adoration. He kissed her lips again and she responded to him. Finally they both stirred, knowing there would be real trouble if she was home any later. He pulled his clothes on and gave her privacy to clean up before assisting her with her dress. He grinned as he helped her with her buttons, feeling like a proper little husband. He piled the blanket up in the basket and watched in admiration as she fastened her long hair back up.

       “How do I look?” she asked unsure of her disheveled appearance.

       “Stunning,” he confessed. She gave him a brief, worried look and smoothed her dress and they made their way back through the Haunted Woods.

       “It seems these woods really are haunted now- by old memories. I think mine and Diana’s little girl selves play here still, trysting with ghosts. I still can’t walk through it after dark without a shiver,” she told him.

       “Are you afraid now?” he asked, studying her.

       “Not with you here,” she gratified him. As they walked closer to home he had to broach the subject.

       “How do you feel?”

       “You already asked me that,” she teased. It made him blush. “And I still feel wonderful.”

       “I’m glad. Was it everything you were hoping it would be?” His gaze was intense so she tried to avoid it.

       “It was different than I expected. I don’t know _what_ I was expecting but, it was much more than that… It was more of a success than I could have hoped. Even my imagination didn’t come close to how… satisfying it would be,” she admitted, deciding he deserved the truth. He glowed under her praise but still felt vulnerable with her. Was she beginning to love him now? Was that too much to hope after everything they had shared? He knew better than to push it but it was difficult not to wrap her in his arms and tell her how happy he had made her, how entirely he loved her.

       “I’m happy to hear it. I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he nudged.

       “No more than was probably inevitable. Quite the opposite,” she was grinning.

       “Good.” He couldn’t think of what else to say so they walked in silence the rest of the way.

       “So what are you doing this weekend,” he edged nervously.

       “Tomorrow I’m helping Marilla, spending some quality time with her while I can. I’ll spend the day with Diana after church Sunday.” He didn’t want to sound needy so he left it at that. When they finally approached Green Gables she insisted on going through the gate alone.

       “Thank you, Gil,” she smiled, reaching for his hand. “You’ve been such a good friend to me in all this. I want you to know… I want you to know that I will _always_ be your good chum.”

       His face fell as she squeezed his hand and then released it. She bit her lip in dismay at his expression as she opened the gate and left him.

       “I’ll see you soon, I hope,” were her last words to him, almost tilted as a question. He stood there watching her from the gate until she was safely inside, filled with a disorienting confusion.


	7. A Chance Sown Seed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to express (hopefully redundantly) that NONE of those "measures" Anne took are reliable. The pull out method doesn't work, the "rhythm" method doesn't work, and sticking a sea sponge up there isn't going to work. So... for anyone out there, thank your lucky stars you live in 2018 and go to PP and talk to a professional about what would work best for you. Sorry for the PSA, but, you know...

            As soon as Anne entered the front door she was greeted by the scene of Matthew at the kitchen table, holding a cup of tea, and Marilla flying towards her in a rage.

            “Where were you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?! What were you thinking? Answer me!”

            Unprepared for this kind of reaction, the girl stammered for a response.

            “I was with Gil. We were just walking,” she offered weakly.

            “At this time of night? You’re not supposed to be out this long after dark! Have you taken leave of your senses?” Marilla’s anger made her want to retreat into her shell but the look of worry on Matthew’s face made her break into tears.

            “I didn’t think there would be anything wrong…” she wrapped her arms around herself, pleading with the older woman in submission. She hated upsetting them.

            “Anything wrong? With staying out with a boy this long after dark? Don’t you know what people could say? You’re not a little girl anymore, this is entirely inappropriate!” Marilla’s anger was mixed with fear.

            “I’m sorry! I never meant to make you worry. I didn’t think it was that late.” There were no grand descriptions of how the Haunted Woods looked in the moonlight or how she was swept away by the magic of nocturnal fairies, only helpless pleas for clemency.

            “Anne, you had us so worried that I almost sent Matthew after you.” Humiliation.

            “It’s not that late! I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I’m going to be in Kingsport soon, it’s not as though I can’t be trusted to look after myself,” she protested. That seemed to knock Marilla back.

            “So you think you’re too old to live by rules now, is that it?” Her voice may have been lower but her anger no less abated. “Well, you may be off at college soon doing God knows what but while you are under this roof you are still expected to abide by our wishes. I expected more from you, Anne. And more from Gilbert Blythe,” she said sadly.

            “What’s what supposed to mean? He didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who wanted to- to _stay_. Marilla, I said I was sorry. It won’t ever happen again. _Please_ , won’t you forgive me?” At some point Anne had started sobbing uncontrollably.

            “The girl said she was sorry, Marilla. She just lost track of time, is all,” Matthew offered from his seat.

            “I won’t have her running wild, undoing all the years of work it took to make her name respectable in Avonlea!” With this Anne fell to the floor, overwrought with her tears. This took both siblings by surprise and Matthew stood to come to her side before Marilla waved at him to stop. She crouched next to the girl, an uncomfortable feat for her back. She wrapped an arm around Anne’s shoulders.

            “Anne, what on earth…” she chastised gently as she rubbed her daughter’s back.  There came no answer. “Stop that now.  It’s over. You can’t do things like this.”

            “ _Oh, Marilla_!” Anne wailed. “I can’t live with myself for disappointing you. I can’t! I’m a blight on you! You never should have kept me,” came her wracking sobs.

            “Hush now! I thought we were through with all of this,” Marilla was worried now. “Stand up.”

            “Please don’t say things like that, Anne,” Matthew managed. “You should know by now that you’re our greatest source of pride.”

            She looked up at Matthew, eyes shining with tears, face twisted in agony.

            “How can I be? When I’ve taken all of your confidence in me and spent it so carelessly.”

            “What do you mean, Anne?” Marilla asked, fear rising in her voice. Even in her sorrow Anne wasn’t mad enough to say any more.

            “I’ve let you both down. I shouldn’t have stayed out so late after dark,” was her whimpering reply. Marilla stood up, smoothing down her apron.

            “Well, that’s enough of all that. Go on upstairs and get ready for bed. I’ll bring you a glass of warm milk to calm you down. You’re home safe, that’s all that matters.” Anne made her way up to her bedroom, feeling as though she had made the worst decision of her life. How could she be so stupid? She had sworn to herself, and to Gil, that what they were doing was harmless. How could it be harmless when it could hurt the people she loved so deeply? If Marilla and Matthew had any idea what she had done their disappointment would kill them. All her lofty ideas about being a progressive woman now felt like another fairy tale she had told herself, and it had taken something so precious from her. As she washed her face and changed into her nightgown she despaired for what she had thrown away.

            She had told Gilbert it wouldn’t affect their friendship. How utterly stupid had she been? She had brought such disrepute to him, or would if anyone ever found out. And what if the preventative measures didn’t work? She sobbed into her pillow. What had she been thinking? All her years of fantasizing about meeting her ideal man… How had she convinced herself that she could _make love_ without any feelings involved? It contradicted itself. How would she explain to her future husband about Gilbert? Before it had seemed a thrilling adventure, becoming a woman with the handsome, smart boy from her home town before venturing off into the world to accrue more love affairs.  But now she felt sick.

            Gilbert was so much more than a handsome face. He was her best friend. She knew that now. How could she treat him like something disposable? He was so generous to her and she had repaid him with treachery. How had she convinced herself there would be no romantic feelings when he touched her with his perfect body, his beautiful mind? Her mind raced with memories of their evening together and she felt she might be sick. The way he had looked at her, shared himself with her, the way he touched her… How could she ever forget the way she felt when his hands, his mouth, his eyes had left her so totally exposed and feeling so inexplicably accepted? More than accepted, but cherished.  How had she turned that into some sort of arrangement that ended with a handshake? For someone who had craved love her whole life, she felt bitterly that she had made some mockery of it. He had said he wanted to wait for his future wife. Why did he have to be so perfect? Would she ever recover from the way he murmured her name alongside the word ‘beautiful’ as he gave the most precious gift he had to her- a hideous, obnoxious, _cursed_ pile of garbage like her? What made her think she could come along and ruin decent people’s lives?

            Would Gilbert apologize to his wife on their wedding night? Or would he tell her before? Would she want to know who she was? Shame spread like a poison in her stomach and she was running out of tears. Billy Andrews and the rest were right all along. She was orphan trash, a trollop come into their lives to corrupt the community that had accepted her after hard won trust. Why did she have to feel these things? This lust that made her a danger to respectable men like Gilbert? He had only done it to stop her from throwing herself at the next man, so worried about her purity. He was too good for this world, let alone her friendship. Some friend she had been to him, taking advantage of his chivalry. She was a succubus, sapping the goodness from a compassionate, loving, giving man like Gilbert. He probably already regretted it. How could she face him again? She wasn’t even good enough to be his friend after this. The torture of it was how magnificent it had been. He made her feel sensations she couldn’t have imagined. Reading about the peaks of carnal pursuit were nothing compared to the reality of that ecstasy she felt when he made her climax. She had done it by herself in her room before but it was elusive and difficult to accomplish with her own hands. Gilbert seemed to easily draw out her elation, making it last what seemed an eternity. She had never poured out everywhere before, it had scared her at first, but he seemed to delight in it. She groaned in the horror of how phenomenal it had been. Which way was forward now? How could she ever rectify this?

            Marilla came up with her glass of milk.

            “There, there. Enough of that,” she cooed over her daughter, smoothing her hair back. “You know how much I like Gilbert. I think he’s a fine, respectful boy.” This brought more wails from Anne.

            “Anne if something has happened between the two of you… You should tell me.”

            “I can’t. Marilla, I can’t. I’m a curse to all the people who care about me. A curse to myself.” Marilla was quiet for a long time. Did she understand? Please, God, no.

            “I don’t know what you’ve done this time… And I hope that if it’s really that bad, you can feel you can always come to me and I’ll try to understand. And come to me _first_. I… I love you very much, Anne. And it pains me to hear you speak of yourself thusly. You should know by now that nothing you do will ever cause me to love you any less. Even if you _did_ set fire to the house or put strychnine in the well.” Marilla’s eyes were soft in the candlelight.

            “I know you’re in a big hurry to grow up. And I know there’s not much I can say to stop it. You _are_ growing up. But I hope by now that you have enough respect for yourself to go out into the world with a sense of dignity in how you go about things. You are a smart girl. I know you had a hard time of it before you came here, but I’ve always thought it incredible that you should still have so much of your optimism undiminished. I hope you can see yourself with half the optimism you can see in a muddy pond or a half rotted tree. Matthew and I love you more than… more than anything. And one day you’ll meet a young man who will, too. I have no doubt about it. Maybe you already have. But you have to have some of that feeling for _yourself,_ too, or you’ll always be mixed up, making the same mistakes over and over again.” Marilla seemed to think twice about what she wanted to do before bending down and kissing Anne on the forehead. She stood to leave the girl alone but as she reached the door Anne called out,

            “Marilla, I’d rather die than disappoint you,” she managed to say.

            Marilla seemed to think about that a moment before replying,

            “I’d rather you not disappoint yourself, Anne-Girl. Goodnight.”

            And with that Marilla left her alone to her thoughts. Marilla’s words stuck with her, but they would stay stuck on the surface for some time, taking their time to sink into her consciousness. Perhaps years.


	8. Forget

     Neither of the Cuthbert women made any mention of that night or the words spoken in it, but Anne silently remembered. The whole day she spent deep cleaning Green Gables she would get lost in the memories of what she and Gilbert had shared. She remembered his nervous laugh when he helped her tug her dress off, eyes shining with what seemed like surprised gratitude. She remembered his guttural humming as he feasted between her legs and how he stared at her while his lips made a meal of her. She remembered how she had thought he had fainted when he first entered her, collapsing in her arms, the weight of him spiking the fever she felt before he steadied himself above her and… the way his eyes looked shining with tears of joy.

          _Ugh!_  What was wrong with her? Why had she blubbered like that? How would she face him again? Anne put all of her frustration into her back as she scrubbed the kitchen floor with the large bristle brush in her hands. How would they resume their previous easy camaraderie after all that had transpired? She kept thinking back to what Marilla had said about accepting the past. She would fight for his friendship if she had to. The thought of him parting from her, ashamed of what they had done and unable to even look at her brought fresh tears to her eyes. She wanted their friendship back so desperately that her heart ached, sitting heavy, calcified in her chest like a tumor. Never had she tasted sorrow of this bitter sapor since she thought she would be turned away from Green Gables. Surely it was his friendship she mourned, and not his touch, not the way she could still smell him on her body. She was so confused by what she felt for him.

          Later as she dusted all of the cabinets she decided stubbornly that the feelings she was having for Gilbert were artificial. Manufactured from their ill-advised tryst. They weren’t real. They were merely a side effect of what they had done. It was all too clear now what a dangerous game she had been playing. If she hadn’t given herself to him physically, and experienced his tenderness she was sure she wouldn’t be having these unwanted feelings. What had she read about laudanum and other pain dulling medicines that doctors used? That they could be addictive. That’s what this was. Gilbert had selflessly given her a tonic to her despondency and now she was craving it when she knew it would only harm her. But what _was_ he thinking now? She was prepared for him to despise her and after hours of reflection she felt she had steeled herself for that outcome. Next time she saw him she would study him for signs of resentment and if she had the chance she would apologize to him, promise to forget everything if he could, and never broach the subject again. He must be able to go on with his life and goals. She wouldn’t let him feel as though he had lost something he could never recover. She would throw herself on his mercy and beg him to give her a second trial at their friendship if he could find it in his heart to be so generous. She was resolved.

          The next day she didn’t see him in church and felt a cold fear that she had damaged his faith as well, making him feel like too much of a sinner to set foot in The House of God. Her afternoon with Diana was colorless and she mourned for that, too. She could never confide in dear Diana again. She told Fred everything these days… The way Anne used to tell Gilbert everything. Diana could sense Anne wasn’t herself and tried to draw her out. It didn’t work. Anne looked ill.

          “Are you sure you’re well, Anne? Does it pain you so much to hear about the wedding?” she implored. Anne looked into Diana’s innocent, caring eyes and slumped. She felt she had betrayed her bosom friend as well. Diana had waited dutifully for her wedding day and Anne… she felt every bit the bad seed that Mrs. Barry feared she was when they first met.

          “Oh, Diana… I just don’t want to change so much. I’m truly thrilled for you. You mustn’t think I don’t celebrate with you! My most fervent dream is for you to have all of the happiness and joy that I know Fred has brought you. Never think otherwise! I just,” she sighed, “don’t know where I fit in this world anymore.” Diana put her teacup down and took both of Anne’s hands in her own.

          “Now you listen here, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I’ll _tell_ you where you fit. Right here with me. I would have you know that if you should ever need to get away from the world, if college becomes too much, if you’re heart is broken, or if you simply have a bad spell for any reason and you don’t think you can share it, then come to me and I will never turn you away. Fred Wright knows that one of the conditions of our marriage is that you will _always_ have a place in my home. For as long as you need it.” Diana’s speech left Anne unable to do anything but embrace the girl tightly. When they separated Diana added,

          “But I do hope it will be a little time before that day ever comes. At least after our honeymoon,” she said slyly, lifting her teacup to her mouth again.

          “Oh, Diana. I hope Fred makes you feel the plates of the earth shift and collide beneath you on your wedding night,” she wished her friend. Diana blushed and spilled her tea.

          “Oh, my! _Anne,_ ” she giggled. There is was. The chasm. She could never speak to Diana on this topic, that was obvious. But Marilla was right, what’s done is done. There was no wishing back her innocence. She could only move forward, and find the woman she wanted to be along the way through trial and error- and hopefully at lower cost.

          Later at home as she helped with Sunday dinner she reflected on how Matthew and Marilla had told her that they would always love her, no matter what. And Diana said her home would always be open to her. If her night with Gilbert ever became public knowledge she could never bring shame on them with her presence and leave Avonlea forever. She sent a thanks to heaven for the affair remaining secret, preserving her place in her community. She sent another thanks when her blood came some days later.

          She saw Gilbert again before then. Perhaps his sense of duty compelled him to check in on her when he came Monday and found her in the orchard of Green Gables, reading her new book “ _Jude the Obscure”_ by Thomas Hardy. She was just at the part when Arabella, having seduced Jude, traps him into marriage under the claim that she is carrying his child.

          “What are you reading?” he asked her in greeting, sitting down across from her on the grass beneath a cherry tree. She startled at his sudden arrival and marked her place in the book with a feather. Rather than answer him she handed over the book.

          “Thomas Hardy. Any good?” She shook her head to the negative before pausing to think.

          “Too early to tell. But it’s not looking good for the protagonist.” She seemed to Gilbert to be lost in deep thought. He hardly expected her to greet him with a kiss. He had prepared himself for indifference and treaded lightly.

          “Are you feeling prepared for Redmond?” he asked. Anne looked at him with an expression he would have given anything to decipher. Was it fear? Masked disgust?

          “I suppose I will have to be. You?” They both looked at each other expectantly, questioningly. He didn’t know how to act with her anymore and she was no more certain about him.

          “I feel like I’ve been waiting too long as it is. Now that it’s time to go… I think some of me will miss this place. There’s really nowhere like Avonlea. At least I’ll be among friends,” he smiled at her.

          Friends.

          “Gilbert, _are_ you still my friend?” She asked him pointedly, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. As relieved as he was that she broached the subject first, he was taken aback by her question.

          “Of course, Anne. Always.” He wanted so much to pull her close to him and reassure her but he wasn’t sure that’s what she wanted. It had been driving him crazy since they parted.

          “Always, Gilbert? I realize now how much I jeopardized our friendship in my haste…” she looked down at her hands, wishing she were still holding her book as some sort of shield. “I wish I could take it all back when I think of how much I’ve risked. I couldn’t bear to lose you,” she finished.

          So she regretted it? Part of him was hurt but the other part of him heard _why_ she was distraught and he allowed it to give him hope. He set her book aside and reached out to hold her hand, peering into her downcast eyes with meaning.

          “Hey. You haven’t lost me. Quite the opposite. I still don’t claim to know entirely why you asked me. I know what you said, but… It’s my hope that our friendship will only grow deeper.” His eyes were so soft now. He was looking at her the way he had that night and she couldn’t stand it. What if he was feeling some of the side effects she had? What was worse? This or his hatred? She pulled her hand away and his empty one hovered a little long where they were just joined.

          “Things were so perfect before. Can’t we go back to that?” she begged. His heart sank. If told her the truth, that he could never think of her as a merely friend, he would risk losing her forever. She needed more time. It was to be expected that her emotions would be turbulent. His assuredly were. He wanted to pull her to his body and rain kisses on her, profess everything he felt… But that would be foolish.

          “Do you think you’ll be able to forget what happened between us, Anne?” he asked, unable to keep the pain out of his voice.

          “I’m sure of it!” she lied. “If we could just go on being the way we were. I can’t lose my dearest friend just as we’re about to head to another chapter of our lives. If I could give back what I took from you I would. I can’t bear to lose another friend,” she looked as though she might cry. His head was spinning with everything she was saying. She had never called him her dearest friend before. Could she forget so easily? Was she in earnest? Her fear of losing him was what struck him the most and he avoided touching her again, as it seemed so unwanted to her.

          “Anne, you didn’t take anything. I gave it freely,” he said quietly.

          “You’re far too generous to me. I know very well now how wrong it was to put you in that situation. You’ve always been too patient, too forgiving with me. And now I’ve let my- my _fantasies_ about what I thought I wanted out of life upset everything. It was selfish of me. And short sighted. I’ve learned my lesson. I should have been patient. I _will_ be patient going forward. It was wrong to use our friendship like that.” She was meeting his eyes bravely now, sincere in her avowal. And it was very nearly everything he could have wanted to hear. Nearly.

          “Do you think we could try and be just friends again? The best of friends?”

How was he supposed to resist her? She seemed so ardent about wanting him in her life. He didn’t want to lie to her by claiming he could forget, but she didn’t want to know. Would she be disgusted to know that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to wash in two days, intoxicated by the way her scent still clung to him? Or that the memory of her licking his semen off of her fingers still came to him every time he closed his eyes. He felt himself stir again, seeing her the first time since…

          “Anne, I will try. I can try. I don’t want to lose my best friend, either,” he clenched his jaw, holding back the rest of what was on his mind. Anne was fighting the urge to place her mouth on the offensive muscle of his jaw and the accompanying urge to wrap herself around him again at the sight of him looking so stern. Instead she allowed herself to smile nervously, gratefully. Gilbert was better to her than she deserved. Maybe their friendship would be awkward at first but they both seemed to be on the same page, and she was relieved. How had she managed to get through all of this unscathed? It seemed too good to be true, but she knew she had a battle ahead of her to forget being intimate with him and the feeling she couldn’t shake that she wanted to do it again and again, as soon as possible. In her supreme ignorance, she felt it was a burden she would carry alone.

          “Then we will never speak of it again,” she clapped. His heart sunk. “Now! Tell me how the Lacroix’s are coping with your impending departure,” she demanded with a forced cheer in her voice. They spoke of Avonlea, of the people there. Of Ruby’s health, Diana’s wedding, Bash’s farming, of the upcoming harvest. They spoke of the books they had been reading. Every word was cloaked with the spirit of what was left unspoken but, after all, they had promised each other to _try_.


	9. 36 St. Johns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. It wasn't my intention to reward my loyal readers with this kind of wait but this past week was very fast paced and barely left me with a moment to write. I do have some goodies in store for you, though.  
> How will Anne and Gil take to campus life? Will they become too busy, meeting new interesting people to see each other? How might that make them feel?
> 
> Next chapter should be soon now that the busy days have slowed down.

          Anne’s last night in Avonlea was bittersweet. Of course, there would be no tears spilled by the sensible Marilla Cuthbert, no emotional scenes. The more tears and gushing speeches Anne gave, the more phlegmatic the older woman found it easier to be. She did, however, take her time in helping Anne pack, fussing over the care of her new clothes. She lingered in the doorway longer than usual as the college girl got settled into bed that night and the next morning, when Diana Barry arrived to play escort to the train station, Marilla took great care in reminding Anne to make sure that she ate enough and dressed warmly. Only those who are kindred spirits would hear the quiet ‘I love you’ and ‘how will life ever be the same without you?’ in every gesture.

          Matthew wasn’t much better for words. There was much hovering, half mumbled sentiments of pride and hope, and one last tearful hug. His farewell was a quiet one as well, but the genuine warmth inhered in the soul of a meek man knows no parallel in this life or any other and it seemed to Anne that the memory of that parting might be seared into her heart with as much glory as the day she first came to Green Gables. She had hoped her ride to the station would be decked with a clarion of brilliance that only Avonlea could offer but she was to be disappointed. The sky was overcast and utterly unromantic. Diana vehemently entreated promises of her bosom friend never, ever to forget her or replace her, to write her constantly, to continue their love and sharing across any distance. Something about the candor in her voice, cracking over choice words, revealed to Anne for the first time that perhaps Diana felt every bit as left out of her new life as she herself had been feeling.

          The sight of her tear streaked sentinel watching her resolutely from the platform as the steam engine tore her away was almost all Anne could bear. But she was determined not to shed a single tear until she was in her bed that night. In the spring there had been seven Redmond hopefuls in Avonlea and now the number had been abraded to three! Moody Spurgeon had been accepted into seminary (his family’s first choice for him) and Jane Andrews had shocked everyone by going to live with a cousin out west to work on a two year teaching certificate. No one was fooled. Jane could have earned her degree closer to home but it was rumored that Jane was tired of following her sister’s shadow. Best of all, Josie Pye had failed to pass the entrance exam. Whatever sorrow Anne felt at leaving her home was assuaged by this crowning victory. A new bitterness had entered Josie’s soul concerning the redhead and whatever uneasy armistice existed between them had passed over into a resentment, burrowed deeper than ever before.

          Anne joined Charlie Sloane and Gilbert Blythe once she boarded the train car, the latter knowing enough to give her privacy while saying goodbye to Diana. Their conversation flowed easier with Charlie present and it was easy for Anne to distract herself with talk of shared scholastic expectations. Gilbert seemed chipper and she remarked on it when they were alone on the ferry. When she questioned how he could be so bereft of any appearance of homesickness he protested that he was every bit as nostalgic for Island days as she was but he felt that just now the future seemed to be expanding with so many possibilities that he had little room for any other feelings than anticipation. This made Anne look sideways at him admiringly, a glance not unnoticed by Gilbert and only fueled on that anticipation.

          “Of course, we won’t abandon you until you’ve found your boarding house,” he assured her.

          “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. One of my roommates, Priscilla Grant, is meeting me at the station. Oh, I hope she’ll be a kindred spirit! I don’t know anything about her. I wonder if she has beautiful, nut brown hair, starry violet eyes, and rosebud lips- and what focus of study she’s chosen. It’s such a disagreeable prospect to share a room with other girls. It puts me to mind of the years I spent in the asylum.” Her bubbling excitement stymied suddenly at the end of her thought. Gilbert watched her, conflicted by the desire to hold Anne close and erase all of that pain that must even now live somewhere inside her and the discipline it took not to touch her. Still, he studied her intently; curious about those experiences she never spoke about, hungry for the intimacy that might come with her sharing her ghosts with him. Perhaps it was the doctor in him that fretted over wounds he could not even entirely see to heal, or perhaps it was the lover in him.

          “What is it?” she tried to hide the irritation in her voice, uncomfortable under his gaze.

          “You’re indomitable,” he answered, shaking his head. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but it seemed unavoidable.

          When they finally arrived at the port of their destination Anne’s iridescence returned as she absorbed the harbor of Kingsport. Even seasick Charlie came upstairs to take in the view of their home for the next four years. By the time they were unloaded Gilbert was about to offer to escort her to her new home again but it was for naught when Anne’s new roommate was identified, holding a slate with the title “Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert” in elegant script. Priscilla Grant was a handsome young woman, and particularly tall, standing a whole head above Anne. She had wheat colored hair, a clear, fair complexion, and an intelligent look to her hazel eyes.

          “Oh, how marvelous! I was wondering how I might find you, and imagined myself waiting here until dusk, lost without a friend to guide me, and even more despairing for PEI than when I had started. I had decided that if I couldn’t find you I would brave the city streets alone in search for 36 St. Johns Street as an exercise in bravery. I never would have thought of anything so clever as a little sign. And your penmanship is divine! What a thrill it gives me to see my name, plain old ‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’, in such an elegant hand- and for the whole world to see. It almost makes me forget what those lovely letters sound like when read aloud. You must be Priscilla Grant!”

          Priscilla stared at the intense girl below her, arching one eyebrow. She finally broke into an amused smile and took Anne’s proffered hand.

          “And I assume based on your speech that you are Anne,” she responded seriously but not unkindly. “And I’m pleased to know another Island girl will be rooming with us.” Anne reacted with surprised joy to the news that Priscilla was also from Prince Edward Island, singing gleefully about how less lonely she would feel and how Priscilla was her personal omen of the gladness that she was now sure laid ahead for her at Redmond. Eventually, the boys were introduced. It was suggested that they all share a taxi, with their boarding houses being in the same neighborhood. To Anne’s disappointment, Priscilla had little knowledge of Redmond to impart, being a “Freshette” herself. She did however give her new roommate an account of what she could expect from their boarding house.

          It was imparted to Anne the character and habits of their elderly twin landladies, the rather drab architecture of the building, the view from their room, the grounds, and what little she knew so far of their third roommate, Stella Maynard. While they conversed Charlie struck up a side conversation with Gilbert, who was straining to hear all the details of Anne’s new home, wanting to be able to envision her in it for his future reveries. Eventually the pairs parted ways when the taxi first arrived at 36 St. John’s. Gilbert had inquired of Priscilla when visitors might be able to call and asked Anne if he could catch up with her the following evening after registration. She replied that of course he _and_ Charlie should both come and that they could all explore the area together. She needed more time to settle in, so she welcomed them to come the night after.

          And so Anne entered the great grey house, already feeling pity for the ugly pines in the front yard and disappointment at the stark architecture of the building. She greeted the middle aged spinster sisters who ran the place and though determined to earn their good opinion, felt they would never be kindred spirits. ‘Can I never avoid twins? Is it my lot in life?’ She thought before being excused to go upstairs and unpack. The bedroom was medium sized with two windows that overlooked the back garden. At least one had a view to St. John’s Cemetery, which immediately captivated Anne’s imagination. Two beds sat beneath the windows and the third was against the opposite wall near the door. On the third bed sat a girl with dark brown hair all pulled up into a puffy style and she wore thick dark black rimmed spectacles. She was neither homely nor beautiful, but had a cute look that could have been enhanced without those awful spectacles. In her stocking feet she sat reading a book, surrounded by many others. ‘Oh my goodness,’ dreamed Anne. ‘Maybe sharing a room won’t be so awful after all.’

          “Hello! I’m Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. You must be Stella Maynard. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance and I vow to try and be the best roommate you could possibly have. I am very tidy and I can be quiet when I really want to be. I sometimes stay up late reading and writing but if the light bothers you I can go to another room. I hope I won’t give you any cause to regret my coming here and maybe we can be good friends.” Anne extended her hand. The girl looked her up and down before shaking her hand.

          “Something makes me doubt that you can be quiet. But I will warn you, I’ve never had roommates before. I can stay up quite late reading myself, and you’re not supposed to leave the room after ten pm. So it’s quite likely that Priscilla will have to get used to sleeping with a light on and the sound of the scratching of a pen,” she considered aloud.

          “Oh, I’ll do fine,” Priscilla supplied. “It sounds like all three of us are here to study, and that’s the most someone can ask for out of a college roommate. Stella here is studying Psychology. It’s rather her passion.”

          “Have you read Freud, Anne?” Stella asked eagerly.

          “I can’t say that I have… But it does sound awfully interesting,” she masked her doubt, happy to know that her roommates were both as dedicated to their education and the expansion their knowledge as she was. She was cheered to learn that Pris and Stella were really quite warm and funny, unraveling many of her fears that she would be stuck in a room with girls who hated her. Pris was studying science with the intention of eventually being a teacher, too. They helped her unpack and Anne made her spot a little more personal with knickknacks from home and a picture or two. The conversation swelled to a fever pitch when they noticed the books she had brought and they spent the night talking about literature and all the books they might lend each other. She had planned to weep into her pillow that night over the loss of her home. It had seemed that despite the promises in her heart, maybe Green Gables would now be a place she vacationed when she had holidays from school and eventually work, now that she was grown up in the world, rather than her home ever again. But that night her broken heart was balmed with the conversation of new friends and exciting new ideas.


	10. Interpretation of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The groundwork for life at Redmond is still being laid, and soon Gilbert and Anne will find their stride there. His thirsty self will appear in the next chapter.

          The next day all three girls registered for their classes, finally setting foot together on campus as official students. The main stairwell was packed with students and Anne felt as small and invisible as she ever had. The Freshman stood out amongst the flurry of excited returning students with their hesitant shuffling steps. The sophomores stood on the stairwell singing their class song and there were rambunctious greetings as old friends found one another in the crowd. Anne’s homesickness returned with full force.

          In the registrar’s office Anne came face to face again with the dowdy Ms. Wearing and thought of how she could have been a distant relation of Stella with her spectacles and mousy brown hair.

          “I don’t know if you remember me from my visit to campus last spring. You showed my class around campus,” she greeted her. Without looking up from Anne’s paper work she replied,

          “I see a lot of faces every day. I can’t remember every one.” Anne’s smile faltered.

          “I know my core focus is English and literature but I was wondering what the policy might be for auditing lectures on the other arts and sciences. I do so want to learn everything I can that Redmond has to offer, and have a well rounded education. I was taking a look at when Astronomy class meets and thought of how much I would adore attending a classroom underneath a starry night sky, but I can’t afford to enroll properly since it’s not in my curriculum. And there was this philosophy class I saw, that focuses on Mathematics and I thought about how much easier geometry might come to me if I could only understand the wonderful _ideas_ about numbers and their relation to nature and, well, everything, really.”

          “That class is for upperclassmen who have already passed the core curriculum in the study of Mathematics,” she looked up at Anne and lowered her spectacles. “Yes, I remember you. Making all that racket in the hallways outside of every lecture hall. You can audit introductory level classes at the professor’s discretion. But you’ll have enough on your plate with your first term.”

          When Anne received her class itinerary she squealed in excitement and was harshly shushed by Ms. Wearing. She thanked her profusely and left the office clutching the page like a holy artifact, looking at the list of the classes and professors she had this term and all of the other classes she would be required to take in the next four years as her focus. When her roommates were ready they headed to the book store to purchase the required texts and Anne was enraptured again as though she were in a dream.  When she was finally torn away, cursing her budget the three girls sat on the green with a pack away lunch.

          “Do you think the answer to the meaning of life is in those shelves?!” she mooned over an egg salad sandwich.

          “You should study your unconscious, Anne. Only there will you find those kinds of answers. What types of dreams do you have?” Stella asked.

          Anne was temporarily quieted as she recalled her most frequent recurring dream. A man with a strong, square jaw, curly dark hair, and gentle hazel eyes climbing into her Gable bedroom window and crawling into her bed. She responded instantly to his touch in the dream as he slid his hands up her scant nightdress, whispering words of taking her away with him into the darkness outside. She protested that she couldn’t leave her home. Her room glowed with the comforting orange lamp glow of ‘home’ and though she felt safe there his words made her feel as though she couldn’t stay there anymore- that she had to acquiesce. He responded to her protests with his kisses, assurances that he would be there to protect her, and soon her nightdress was gone and while holding her gaze with a pleading need in his eyes he moved to…

          “That’s ridiculous. For me that would mean the meaning of life is trying to mend a dress while simultaneously washing it as my mother rushes and criticizes me,” Priscilla scoffed.

          “It is more about understanding your unconscious wishes, which are buried beneath the surface of your waking mind. But it does say a lot about your relationship with your mother, Pris. And your anxiety over meeting her expectations of you, although they may not be your own,” Stella remarked.

          “Well, right now I unconsciously wish that Psychoanalysis will remain on the fringes of your Philosophy B.A., Stella, and that you will spend more time on worthier contemplations,” was Pris’s reply.

          “That’s not an _unconscious_ desire, it’s a conscious one. The whole point is…”

          Anne’s mind was wandering to the dream she had waken from just this morning. It had been a bit more disturbing with the same hero from previous dreams cannibalizing her, starting between her legs. She was confused and embarrassed by the dream in which she had _longed_ to be devoured by her lover rather than afraid of being killed. He had seemed to eat her with a sexual delight, a delight that she shared as she gave into the pleasure of the act rather than trying to flee. She had been perplexed and mortified when she woke up to the stirring of her roommates getting ready for the day, sticky from her dream.

          “Who is that girl just there?” Anne interrupted. “The beautiful one standing by the archway. She looks lonely.”

          The others turned to observe her. She was the most beautiful girl they had seen on campus, and dressed very grandly. She must be a Freshman, too, from how out of place she seemed. How could such a beautiful, and clearly wealthy girl be alone here? She seemed to be looking over at them as though she were trying to decide whether or not to approach them.

          “Perhaps we should ask her to join us,” Anne suggested.

          “Look, she’s gone. Perhaps we’ve frightened her away,” Pris observed.

          The three girls ended their lunch and familiarized themselves with the corridors and rooms they would need to find when their classes begun. It cheered Anne, though they all regretted buying their textbooks before their jaunt. Around every corner she found new potential study spots. She peeked into the library again and surveyed the handsome but humble room with its fine, dark wood and rows of heavy desks, electric lamps, cabinets of reference cards, and the large counter that served as domain for the lucky librarian. There were few students there yet but she remembered how full it had been last spring with scholars, their noses in books and term papers, all striving for the same goal. Yes, she thought she would find a nook here and make it her home these next four years. The library was the biggest she’d seen but she had heard descriptions of bigger and more elegant ones. After her initial disappointment that this dark cavern could only seat maybe two hundred compared to the multiple storied palace filled with 30 foot windows she had imagined, she decided this pokey spot would become a dear friend.

          Later they headed back and finally took their first tour of St. John’s Cemetery. It seemed to hold an ancient regality that the library had been lacking. They passed the stone arch entrance and wound through the old crooked slab graves with names of Kingsport’s oldest families. They read the lovely inscriptions to each other and imagined what sort of lives the people had lived. It was at the graves of soldiers they paused to recount the battle between Shannon and the Chesapeake Bay, and decided to bring flowers some time to leave there.

          “Look! Over there. It’s that beautiful girl from earlier,” Stella complained gesturing at the lovely creature sitting on a bench down their path.

          “Well, now it’s predestination,” said Anne walking towards her. As they three girls approached, the beauty spotted them and sprung from her seat and met them in the middle. Her beaming smile took Anne aback with its beauty. She had thick, glossy, brown hair and merry dark brown eyes. The lines of her face were soft and feminine and her skin was flawless, down to her perfect rose blush.

          “It’s you, again!” she greeted the roommates. “Wasn’t it awful over there, earlier? Feeling crowded and insignificant? It almost made me regret not staying home and getting married. I’m Philippa Gordon, but you can call me Phil! What are your names?”

          Her effusiveness was startling but Anne was intruiged.

          “I’m Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and this is Priscilla Grant and Stella Maynard. We room together at 36 St. John’s. We’re Freshmen, too. We saw you earlier-“ she started.

          “Oh, how I wanted to some speak to you! I was so lonely!”

          “Well, why didn’t you?” Stella asked skeptically.

          “I can never make up my mind about anything, I’m afraid! It took me almost three hours to choose this outfit this morning, and when I finally did I immediately regretted it and changed again. By the time I got to Redmond the line to register was so long. Do you like it?” she gestured to her outfit. It all looked custom made for her with high quality fabric, detailed embellishments and she looked like she’d been torn from the pages of a fashion magazine. It made Anne feel very plain in her homemade things.

          “You look fantastic,” Anne admitted.

          “I think so too but I do need to hear it from others. I absolutely wilt if I have to go too long without a compliment. Now that I’ve left all of my beaux at Bolingbroke I’m going to have to find a few more right away,” she laughed.

          “Do you really have so many beaux?” Pris asked in amusement.

          “Did you say you were from Bolingbroke?” Anne asked in astonishment.

          “Oh, scores but I think I like Alec and Alonzo the best- I- Yes,” she answered them both, finding herself in her element with people to talk to.

          “I was born in Bolingbroke,” Anne told her.

          “Incredible! We were neighbors. I _knew_ I’d like you the moment I saw you across the green. I told myself, ‘Phil, there are the girls that you are going to get to know and who will get to know you. _They_  will be your chums at Redmond. And now we’re here and I was right.”

          “I suppose one does need to find a new source of compliments when finding oneself in an unfamiliar place,” Pris said wryly.

          “Don’t mind that about me. I’m not vain just because I’m beautiful. And I never begrudge a compliment, either. I’ll happily pay you any when you need them. I can always be trusted to pay a genuine compliment, and it won’t be difficult with you. You’re all so lovely. I do hope we can be great friends.”

          They walked and chatted for awhile and Phil worked hard at sealing an agreement that they would see each other the very next day. She stayed in much statelier accommodations than they but didn’t seem at all put off that none of the girls were of humbler means. Later when the three girls were back in their room they admitted that they did like Phil, for all her mirth and silliness. It made Anne feel as though she was starting to put down roots in Kingsport, and it was nice to lay in her new bed, as Stella read philosophy in her corner and Pris slept in hers, with the glow of the lamplight and a new sense of a small, quilted together family. She drifted off into a contented sleep, plagued with dreams of a certain medical student ravishing her on a beach as the waves splashed around them.


	11. Assembly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to start making the chapters longer. Big plans for Anne as she makes her mark on campus! A long bumpy road lies ahead for Shirbert now. Feel free to add comments and requests for what you might like to see in this story as, while I have many, I am interested to know what my readers find the most engaging, especially as many chapters might not have much Gil at times. Don't get me wrong, you will get plenty of his pining, trust me. But Anne is going to be one busy bee at college and he can't follow here everywhere, try as he might. Also, tell me what "vulgar" words for genitalia trigger you because I am having difficulty writing them while I worry about putting people off.

          Life at 36 St. John’s wasn’t the domestic fantasy Anne had envisioned of her college life but she had lived in far worse conditions. Misses Hannah and Ada Harvey really weren’t the worst landladies and their rules were quite reasonable. Being boring and- heaven bless- _twins_ were the extent of their sins. Well, that and Ms. Ada’s penchant for making cushions. The drawing room was plagued with the dowdy things. When informing Anne that she was permitted callers twice a week, so long as they left by seven, she had instructed her not to let anyone sit on her cushions. As if anyone could even sit on the floor without hitting one! No, the Harvey ladies were kindly but Anne had expected a bit more independence in her adulthood. Until she came into a great inheritance Anne accepted that she would have to do with continuing to live under the shrewd eye of matrons.

          That morning she had posted several letters to home, filled with descriptions of her first day, her new friends, the classes she anticipated taking, and her new home. Pris walked with her to the post office after breakfast with her own missives home in hand. Anne was getting to really like Priscilla Grant. She was a very tall woman with a sort of simple beauty with her glittering eyes that belayed a taciturn intellect. She wasn’t as beautiful as Phillipa Gordon, but then who was? Pris had a certain quiet, wry way about her. She didn’t have poetry in her soul, Anne observed, but she definitely had spirit. The pair spoke of the science courses Pris would be taking, her hope at finding employment in whatever field she would find focus in, her home back in Stratford, her family. She was obviously very clever but more than that, she had a good head on her shoulders. Passion was not in her vocabulary but neither was she cold and closed off. Her company was easy and Anne looked forward to the blossoming of their friendship, allowing that Pris could very easily find herself a kindred spirit.

          After meeting back up with Stella the trio met with Phil to do a bit of exploring, familiarizing themselves with the city, mostly near campus. Once Phil had joined their party the conversation became livelier and the girls learned all about Phil’s epicurean lifestyle. She had only been in Kingsport a few days but she had already managed to fill her social calendar and even procure a few male admirers. She might have been the only Freshman to garner invitations to upperclass functions and she seemed intent on bringing the girls with her into the inner circles. This was how on only Anne’s second day in Kingsport she had already gained requests to attend a concert and an afternoon tea in Redmond society. After their outing they returned to their boardinghouse, Phil in tow.

          “…I’m so glad to know you. I can’t think how I would make up my mind about things without you all to help me,” Phil pouted.

          “How did you ever manage to make up your mind to come here if you’re as indecisive as you say?” teased Anne

          “Oh, Daddy decided for me. It was that or marriage, and of course I can’t choose between Alec and Alonzo. They were the only _real_ contenders in Bolingbroke, both meeting my criteria of being rich and handsome. Honestly, I haven’t found anyone in the Freshman class yet that is handsome enough for me, but then again classes won’t begin until Monday. I did see one very handsome chap on campus yesterday. His friend called him Gilbert.”

          Anne bristled. Before anyone could respond there was a knock at the front door. Stella sighed in annoyance as she got up to answer, and from the foyer Anne’s name could be heard. When Stella returned she was flanked by the very own Gilbert Blythe and his friend Charlie Sloane. As soon as Gilbert’s eyes landed on her his whole face lit up and Anne felt a tingle somewhere in her chest. Her dreams the past two nights were filled with his image but, as heated as they were, her excitement became uncomfortably palpable when faced with the real thing.

          “Speak of the devil and they devil may appear!” cried out Phil as she stood to greet the boys. “To what do we owe this pleasure, Misters..?”

          Gilbert looked a bit confused but if Charlie was puzzled then his pleasure at being unexpectedly greeted by the most beautiful girl on campus outweighed it.

          “Um, Gilbert Blythe. And this is my friend Charlie Sloane,” they shook her hand. “We’re friends of Anne’s,” he explained, eyes falling back on the object of his fantasies.

          “I’m Phillipa Gordon, but you can call me Phil. I was just remarking to our mutual friend here what a picture the two of you cut on campus yesterday. And now it seems my Anne-Girl has been keeping her cards close to the vest about knowing you!” she flirted with Gilbert, only briefly glancing at Charlie long enough to make him feel included in her sentiment. Gilbert looked over at Anne almost questioningly.

          “Gil, Charlie, come sit with us,” Anne greeted, rising to welcome them. She gestured to the settee across from her seat. Charlie took it, but Gilbert moved to an empty seat nearer to her.  

          “Yes, come sit with us,” Phil moved to sit next to Charlie since Gilbert had taken her seat. “And tell us everything about yourselves. I’m only a lonely Freshette far flung from my home and kin and any friend of Anne’s is a friend of mine,” she smiled at Charlie who was already flustered. Priscilla and Stella got their chance to introduce themselves and the boys politely asked them about themselves, meeting their descriptions of their backgrounds and plans for their education with polite questions. It wasn’t only Phil who noticed how Gilbert, despite his polite inclusion of the ladies in the room, seemed to glance at Anne at every opportunity.

          “Just now I’m glad that all Freshmen take so many common core classes. It will be a relief to have a friendly face in my Introductory Science class,” Anne told the boys after they both shared their lists of first term classes with her.

          “Perhaps we can form a study group,” suggested Charlie.

          “I like that idea,” supplied Pris with a bit of uncertainty tinting her usually confident voice. “Of all the classes I should hope not to fail in, Science is the top of my list.”

          “We will meet after the first class to discuss the syllabus and work something out from there,” Anne agreed.

          “Boo! I’m not taking that class until next semester at least. I suppose we’ll have to arrange little socials outside of _studying_ and I can’t say I’m sorry about it. All this talk of studying wears on my nerves,” Phil sighed.

          “Redmond is an expensive place to come just for parties,” Stella chided her in clear irritation. This only made Phil laugh.

          “I suppose you think I’m ridiculous but I don’t mind. I have heaps of brains. I’ll prove it to you, Stella. But I could never make it here if I was expected to pour over books the entire time. No, I’m not the sort. I wish I could invite you to join us at the concert next Wednesday evening, but I was invited by a few of the Junior girls- they come from rather old Kingsport families, it seems- and I’m already bringing these three as it is,” she lamented. Something in her language insinuated this comment was meant more for Gilbert than Charlie.

          “Well, they can take my place. I have no desire to play dress up and go out with a company of upperclass debutantes in my first week,” Stella wanted made known.

          “I don’t know these Juniors well enough yet and while bringing a couple of girlfriends with me will be admissible, I can’t think it would go over well if I added any beaux to my assembly,” Phil apologized directly to Charlie this time. He was blushing at the implication but Gilbert was looking to Anne, whose color was beginning to match Charlie’s. Phil was a skillful hostess, filling the room with animated conversation that made every person in it feel engaged. Soon they were a lively little party and it felt safe to Gilbert to attempt a side conversation with Anne.

          “Not your second day here and you’re already climbing the upper echelons of society,” he teased. She shook her head, smiling.

          “Phil is… a character. A very insistent one,” she looked down at her hands as she risked her next words, trying to sound casual. “What do you make of her?”

          “So far? She seems enthusiastic. It makes sense that you would be drawn to her,” he observed.

          “I think it was the other way around, surprisingly enough. She seemed to pick us out of the horde and crowned us her retinue.”

          “No, I think you’re wrong Queen Anne,” his eyes were dancing as a small smirk quirked his lips. “You’re the one assembling your retinue, it seems to me.” What was that expression in his eyes? She felt so hot all of a sudden as memories, not dreams, of his silken flesh against her skin fought for chief position in her thoughts.

          “I’m sure _you’re_ making a splash,” she countered. He wanted to reply, ‘The only splash I want to make is a repeat of your _sublime_  sex spurting your sweet flood of bliss all over my…’ but instead he said,

          “If Her Highness can squeeze it into her calendar, you’ll meet some of the other Freshmen I have.” Oh, no. She looked insulted.

          “Gilbert Blythe, I’m hardly the popular one. You’re the one already accruing admirers and before even our first day of class.”

          “The pot musn’t call the kettle black, Anne-Girl. I didn’t see you anywhere on campus yesterday and yet I had already heard at least one Sophmore remark on ‘the cute redheaded Freshman’ he’d seen in the library,” he raised his eyebrows at her in challenge. It seemed she wouldn’t take the bait.

          “The library may not be a match for the grandiose athenaeum of my dreams, but I think I’m quite fond of it. It feels snug and magisterial all at once. I hope it will be a refuge for me in the next four years.”

          “If anyone can manage to balance being at the top of her class all while enthralling half of the campus I suppose it would be you,” he tried to sound nonchalant. It was too easy to scare her off, he regretted. She simply sighed.

          “Don’t jinx me. My greatest fear is only slightly outlasting Josie Pye here. I don’t want to disappoint myself.” Marilla’s words were still abstract to her but she suspected they might make the most sense of her feelings somehow.

          “Hey,” he almost reached for her hand but thought better of it. Instead he made a fist and lightly knocked her shoulder playfully. It was frustrating that this should be the only way he could touch her now, after everything. “You won’t. We’ll help each other. Just like these last two years,” her eyes met his sincere ones. “We put our heads together and studied together to get here, I won’t leave you hanging now. The study group is a great idea. After our first week of classes you’ll get your confidence back. You’ll see.”

          She was gazing into his eyes now with a small smile. He was such a wonderful friend. Her grades had improved back in Avonlea after they had started studying together rather than competing against each other. He had a gift for bolstering her from the start but it really had been much more effective, and pleasant, once they had started working in tandem. But only academically, of course. It was only a coincidence that they should be as in sync physically as they were mentally. That was irrelevant. As memories of him leaning over her to help her with her geometry surfaced in her mind, his patient encouragement to guide her to completing her math problems was playing in harmony with his patient lovemaking, guiding her to reach her peak. Great. She was wet now.

          “We will help each other,” she corrected. “Unless you’re offering me the charity of your wisdom.”

          “Of course! You could have gotten into Redmond easily without my help, as I could have without yours. But it became a lot easier, and more enjoyable when we worked together, wasn’t it?”

          Her eyes widened with the fear that he was actually able to read her mind. A student of all of her expressions, Gilbert became shy at the fear that he had said somehow come on too strong. To his relief she answered,

          “I cannot deny it.”

          Eventually they had to contribute to the conversation in the room but in that time before Phil and the boys left, the couple still managed whispered quips and observations to one another in private. At one point she had even placed her hand on his arm as she laughed in mirth at something he had said, a fact which he would congratulate himself on later. And later that night in his bed, when he finally closed his eyes to sleep with the fantasy of her curled into his chest, Gilbert would feel a sense of equilibrium that his hopes with Anne might actually be on the right track now.


	12. Letters Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tossed and turned over how to set the stage for Redmond life and this was the best I could come up with. More action in the next chapter, but get ready for Renaissance Anne trying way too hard to impress everyone. And by everyone I mostly mean Gilbert.

Dearest Marilla,

I hope this letter finds you well. It must be harvest time in Avonlea now and I can smell the apples in the orchard and the crisp autumn leaves. I’m sure the surface of the Lake of Shining waters has lost its summer diamond glint and is settling into a placid deeper blue. The crops must nearly be ready for threshing and The Haunted Woods will be a picture of brown, amber, and rust. I can see Snow Queen outside my gable window now, losing her blossoms and preparing to shed her beautiful mane for winter. Will you scold me for my dramatics if I tell you that there are days I miss you and Matthew so much that I feel I can’t bear to be away from you any longer? When I think of you in the kitchen making preserves, smudges on your apron and warmth of maternal kindness in your eyes or of Matthew’s companionable silence on evenings by the fire with his pipe I consider that the cost of my education has come at too great a price.

I am so homesick for Green Gables and Avonlea, Marilla. And homesick for my beloved family. The last of your baking is gone and the thought of waiting until Christmas to taste your cooking again is too much to bear. Why can I not stay your little Anne forever? It’s fortunate that I do not hold the power of time in my hands for I would go back to a simple quiet Saturday when I was fourteen years old, working with you in the kitchen, and stay there forever. I fear a great many people would resent me for stagnating change and growth if I held that ability, Marilla.

There! I’m finished wallowing, so you should be proud of me. I wrote you about Stella Maynard, Priscilla Grant, and Phil Gordon, but I have new names to add to this story you’re reading. In the story of Anne the College Girl there are new classmates, professors, and study groups to avail you of. I had my first day of classes today Marilla, and thus my academic career begins. Professor Bell is my English teacher and he is a dear little gray man. Already I feel challenged to higher ideals in my writing and in my standards for storytelling. In our syllabus he has suggested a list of works to read in addition to our required studies and would you believe it? I have already read at least a quarter of them! Of course, I plan to read them all. Thank goodness Ms. Stacey taught me how to read literature critically and take notes as I go along. I want so to impress him, Marilla. And before you chide me, _yes,_ I am more concerned about learning and bettering myself than my vanity, but how can I help but want my work to be seen and noticed by a possible mentor?

Fortunately, Priscilla is a great help to me on my Geometry. You may appreciate this Marilla, but Pris has such a romantical way of explaining math that even I have begun to see the beauty there. Did you know that Euclid was quoted to have said, “The laws of nature are but the mathematical thoughts of God?” How poetic! I always imagined Geometry to be too logical and sequential to captivate my imagination but now I am beginning to understand how random and intuitive it can be and how sacred. I begin to see the fingerprints of God in the filaments and petals of flower when I spot the the shapes of stars in all the connecting center points, the symmetry of the face of a pretty girl … But then Pris starts talking about three dimensional platonic solids and I am lost again in the complexities.

Charlie Sloane and Gilbert Blythe will be in my Science class tomorrow along with Stella and Pris. We’ve formed a little study group with two of their new chums, Thomas MacDermit and William Jennings. Thomas is a veritable tower of a man, standing almost a full head above Gilbert. He is tow-haired, wears a vacant expression on his face most of the time, and is studying to be a dentist. He is an odd one, Marilla. He rarely ever speaks and when he does it’s in such a monotone, and he always seems discomforted or perplexed when the rest of us start chattering about anything outside of the subject of school. Gilbert says he’s just a wallflower and really he’s a nice enough fellow but I still can’t see anything of a kindred spirit in him.

William Jennings is rail-thin, a little shorter than a man should be, has a mop of dark brown hair that is very much like Charlie’s and wears spectacles like Matthew’s. He has a terrible slouch and seems to bursting with an energy that makes him rather twitchy. William is studying Philosophy and at first I thought him a good match for Stella. Now that I see them interacting I’m quite dispossessed of the idea. They’re both too opinionated and argumentative. We have planned to all meet in a cozy center table in the library on Tuesdays at 4 pm to go over the day’s lesson and study together. Isn’t it somewhat of a comfort to be able to know where I am at a given point of the day all the way from Green Gables? If you ever find yourself missing me on a Wednesday at 10 AM you can just imagine me in Professor Bell’s English class and know that I am diligently pouring over the classics.

Last night I went to a concert with Phil and some of the upperclass girls. Remind me to limit my contact with upperclassmen in the future, Marilla, because I think it makes me seem like a snob to the rest of my class. Oh, it was grand though, apart from the company. The girls were frivolous and spoke more about the ruffles and lace of each other’s dresses than the magnificent music of Tchaikovsky. I felt even at my best I was only a daisy in a room full of orchids, though Phil tells me I hit it off with them wonderfully. She is silly, Marilla, but I feel I should assure you that Phil has more merit to her than the stories I’ve related may reveal. I get the feeling sometimes that she only pretends at being nonsensical and superficial and there are moments when I feel as though I can see the real her that she covers up. I hope to get to know her better and that she can grow to trust me. She is darling but I still don’t know why she has singled me out to be her constant companion at Redmond. She has even suggested to me and the girls that the four of us should look for a house to rent together next semester. I have my doubts about that, Marilla, but poor Phil doesn’t understand money, having always had plenty of it. She admitted herself that she doesn’t even know how to push a broom!

I have learned that the Philomathic club will have its first meeting in two weeks and I will move heaven and earth to be there. Oh, Marilla! An entire extracurricular club just for the recitation of the written word! If I could have a career in recitation I should pack of my dreams of teaching today. Before you get too exasperated with me, of course I am only in jest. The more I learn and discover the more I want to share, as you have discovered from my long letters. But I hope you will _never_ let me be one of those people who comes home from college thinking herself too distinguished and learned to hold a conversation with real people. I should hate to be one of those insufferable parvenus who insist on ‘educating’ her family and neighbors about the wide world she has been exposed to at college that ‘the rest of them could never understand’. I only want to share all the things that have captured my imagination with you, and never with pretense that I think I know more than anyone else.

In short, I hope to grow in wisdom and character as well as knowledge while I am here, Marilla. I want to make you proud. It is my fondest hope that the investment you saw fit to make in me those years ago when you decided to keep me will never give you cause for regret. I want all the people who thought such nasty things about my breeding to eat their words when they see what a charming, distinguished, and successful young lady you brought up. I plan on meeting a lot of new kinds of people while I am here, and expand myself so I can contain all the multitudes that invigorate me. All the classes and clubs, the social events- I won’t be satisfied until I have tried (and mastered?) every single one that interests me. Does that sound terribly silly to you, Marilla?

Please do tell me how you are doing. I apologize if I have written too much and caused you a headache. If my letters should ever strain your eyes I beseech you to put them down immediately! If you really can’t contain yourself, ask Matthew to read them to you. I am writing to him too, of course. I have even finished a short simple missive to Jerry, though his literacy is coming along by leaps and bounds. Jerry was my first true student and I will always have a whisp of affection for how my experience in teaching him to read has lead me, in its small part, to my choice in vocation. Please tell Mrs. Lynde that her quilt sits on my bed and envelopes me in the comfort of home on the nights that I miss you all so much that I cannot stop my tears. Let her know that I am taking good care of it and that I cannot thank her enough.

Diana told me that her wedding will be in the summer now and I cannot help but feel a bit guilty that she perhaps moved it to make it possible for me to attend. Heaven forgive me if I don't feel the sting of Fred Wright's resentment of me on that account. I have yet to hear from Cole, but I’m sure he’s still on a steamer for Paris with his travelling companion. Tell me about Belle and Dolly. Does Dolly still hop the fence into Mr. Harrison’s garden? If so, I am terribly sorry that I am not there to take her in hand. I have mentioned it to Jerry in my letter and hope she won’t be too much of an inconvenience to you and that you won’t scold Matthew for buying her for me. Tell me about the farm, won’t you? Are you making apple cider? What have you been baking? I want to know every insignificant detail of what you have been up to since I left. Nothing can bore me. What I would give for an afternoon of Mrs. Lynde’s gossip now, even if it’s directed unfairly at me.

What news of Ruby? I have written her but I doubt she’ll tell me much about her health if she replies. I pray for her twice a day and carry with me the girlhood hopes we weaved together with every step. I hope that the doctors are wrong and that she will make a full recovery. It’s all up to Divine Providence as Mrs. Lynde is want to say. I have a difficult time believing that God would take a girl with her beauty and capacity for love so soon, just before she blooms. If only she could be given one or two more years to marry Herb Spencer and see all of her love dreams fulfilled I could be more reconciled… But I can hear your voice in my head now, Marilla, and I will enough with this dreary talk.

I promise to keep you abreast of my studies and my goings on here. It sounds as though Gilbert will be trying for the Lambs- that’s Redmondese for Lambda Theta. It’s quite rare for them to extend an invitation to Freshman so it’s quite an honor for him. It sounds as though he’ll be joining the football team as well! I’m sure that when I’m in a fair amount of clubs myself I’ll cut just an intimidating a figure as he. We might even be competing for an English scholarship by the end of next term, from the sound of it. I think I might take up Phil’s offer to attend that luncheon being thrown by the ‘bluenose’ girls of Kingsport this Sunday after church after all. How I long for _you’re_ cooking, though, Sweet Marilla.

 

Forever and Always Your,  
Anne Shirley-Cuthbert of Green Gables

 

P.S. What would you think if I took up a foreign language in addition to Latin and Greek?


	13. Restrictions and Releases

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these updates are slow going, but getting the lay of the land at Redmond and introducing so many new characters is a trial. Hopefully I am getting stuck in now. Going to be working on the next chapter right away. And I am still looking for good feedback on what you're hoping to see, whether the new characters are engaging yet or whether they are a distraction from what you want to see, and how I can change that. Life is going to be very action packed for Anne at Redmond and things will be lonely without Gilbert in the future, so I have to build her a little network, y'know? And did anyone have objections to words for penis in the future? Cock, that sort of thing. I need to know people's triggers.

Anne sunk into the grass beneath the elm tree on the Redmond campus greens with a dejected sigh. She struggled for a deeper breath, still not used to wearing corsets so regularly. It was irritating that she should be expected to conform to standards for ‘ladies’ here at a place that was supposed to be a haven of progressive thought, but there were just too many people here from ‘decent society’ and rebelling from these restrictions would have made her a pariah. Her mood was made ten times worse by the red marked Science quiz in her hand.

“I got a 72!” she lamented to her friends who had just caught up to her.

“Oh, Anne. It’s still a passing grade,” Stella offered, as she and Priscilla sat down in a circle with her.

“I don’t understand. We’ve all been studying together. What did you two make?” Anne asked the girls as Gilbert led Charlie and William to their circle.

“You left a cloud of dust back there, Anne,” Gilbert said, sitting close to her as Charlie and William fidgeted, wondering whether to take Gilbert’s cue to sit with the girls. William did first, sitting next to Stella who was ignoring him, then Charlie.

“There’s no point comparing-“ Pris began.

“Please, tell me. We’ve all been studying together. I have to know if I’m the only one in the group who scored so low,” Anne begged. Pris revealed that she had scored a 97 and Stella an 84. Anne groaned, giving Gil an opportunity to pry her quiz from her hands.

“It’s a passing grade, Anne. You’ll catch up. We’ll make sure to review the last chapter this afternoon before we study for next week,” Gilbert offered.

“And have the entire study group fall behind because of me? No,” she protested, wriggling in her whale bone cage, trying to procure a deeper breath. This didn’t escape Gilbert’s notice, who considered himself a bit of an expert in Anne’s figure.

“Not true. I failed completely,” William said, laying his quiz marked with a large red 67 in the center of their group.

“We’ll go over all of our quizzes later for what we did wrong. It will be good for all of us,” Pris resolved. “It helps to learn, to teach it to others. No point wallowing. We’ve got a plan and we’ll just get on with it.”

Anne groaned and struggled to lean her head on her knees. Gilbert leaned in closer, hand hovering over her back, knowing enough not to give into the temptation to touch her. Everyone saw it. The whole Freshman class saw it, but none more than the Science study group: The way Anne and Gilbert seemed with each other. Gilbert was always trailing close beside Anne when they went anywhere together. Much closer than other men and women walked. When they sat together there was a tension between them when Gilbert would _almost_ rest his arm on the back of her seat before stopping himself. She would playfully swat at his chest or shoulder when pretending to be indignant with him, and when they were standing next to one another Gilbert would slowly drift until she was almost tucked under his arm, then she would angle her body towards his. That’s what they did. They angled towards one another, and closely, whenever they were together. The looks of concern and adoration from him, the looks of shy fascination from her- they were in every interaction, buried between the moments of easy camaraderie. But they never held hands or anything else to give an indication that they were official… The rest of the campus considered them a closed case for being childhood sweethearts but those who knew them better could see that they were still only circling a relationship, if circling very close.

“No more pouting or you’ll make Will feel worse about his grade,” Stella teased her. It worked. She sat up straighter, making Gilbert quickly draw back his hand, and looked at the scraggly boy.

“I’m sorry, William. Of course we’ll both do better after we’ve studied our mistakes. I am determined,” she said, crossing her legs beneath her long skirt and planting her clasped hands in her lap. They went over their wrong answers for a little while before most of them had other classes to head towards. As the all parted ways, Gilbert begun walking with Anne towards her next class.

“Isn’t your next class back in the Science Building?” she asked him, a bit uncomfortable with how he was following her everywhere.

“Well, yeah but, you know, I have time. It’s a nice stroll this way, I think,” he ran his hand through the hair at the back of his head nervously as friends shouted hello to him. He smiled and waved back at them, still feeling self conscious with Anne.

“You don’t have to worry about me running for the harbor. I’m not so immature as to get despondent over one set back.”

“Of course not. You’ll master it. I just… wanted you to know that. That you’re doing great and that you should, you know, believe it. That you belong here.” He held his books with both hands, slowly finding his pace with Anne again now that they were alone together. It had been a challenge the first month at school to try to find a rhythm with her. She had told him before they came that he was her dearest friend and that she didn’t want to lose him and he’d be damned if he lost an inch of ground with her now that they were here, surrounded by new, interesting, intelligent people. He could so easily lose her here to any number of male admirers and he was doing everything in his power to stay a constant fixture in her life.

“Thank you, Gil,” she turned to look at him with a warm smile. It was all worth it for moments like this, when he felt closer than ever to securing her heart. Phil appeared from around the corner and took Anne’s arm before their exchange could continue.

“There you are, pet! Let’s go get good seats before the lecture. I want to sit near the front so everyone can see me today. What do you think?” she gestured towards her hair, her question flirtatiously directed at Gilbert.

“Oh, Phil, it looks perfect on you. I wish I could pull off those styles. I’ll be satisfied just to sit near you in the orbit of your beauty,” Anne beamed at her friend. Gilbert’s eyes flitted between Anne and the ground, a bit disappointed not to see any suggestion of jealousy in her expression when Phil flirted with him. Another Freshman called out towards the trio,

“Hello there, Phil! Say, you look great!” Phil primped her hair in satisfaction at that. “Gilbert, are you going to be late to Chemistry? Come on, buddy!” the Freshman bellowed from across the path.

“I’ll see you later at study group, Gilbert,” Anne told him as she sauntered off on Phil’s arm. He sighed and caught up with his classmate, striking up an animated conversation with him as he glanced over his shoulder at Anne who at just the same moment had glanced back at him.

“I want Anthony Coolidge to see me today. He always acts so flustered when I speak to him, I want to see what it will take to get him to ask me out,” said Phil scandalously.

“How many hearts will you consider it sufficient to break, Phil?” Anne laughed.

“As many as possible! You do your own fair share of heartbreaking, Queen Anne.” Anne was quiet at that and Phil knew not to press the subject anymore, moving on to their professor and how inspiring his lectures were. Phil wondered aloud if it was possible to go out with faculty and was delighted to have shocked Anne.

“But he’s so old!”

“And distinguished, mature, intelligent… Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

“I suppose I don’t really get crushes on older men,” Anne disagreed.

“I’m surprised at you! I thought for sure you would be the schoolgirl mooning over the teacher as he recites Tennyson. You seem the type,” she led her to their seats in the lecture hall.

“Well, maybe you haven’t got me pegged yet, Phil,” she replied, head high.

“Maybe not, but I will. Am I at least half way there, Anne?” Anne’s frosty expression diffused into giggles.

“Maybe half way. But don’t worry. I’m sure I only understand a quarter of you so far, Dear. You are an enigma. How is it that you never seem to study and yet you outrank me in the classes we share?” Anne lamented again. Phil shrugged and the lecture began. After all the classes were through it was nearly time to meet the Science study group in the library. Phil walked her there, stopping to socialize along the way. Anne thought she might know the whole campus by name before Christmas thanks to her friendship with Phil. There were plenty of introductions when she went anywhere with her, and as they approached the library doors she found she couldn’t avoid one more.

“Hi there, Phil. I thought that was you. Who’s your little friend here?” The tall, handsome senior asked, assessing Anne’s figure.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. She’s a freshman too, so don’t scare her off, George!” Tall, handsome George extended his hand to Anne.

“Any friend of Phil’s is a friend of mine. So how are you finding Redmond, Anne?” He leaned against the wall, trying to look his most charming.

“Alright, thank you.” She was uncomfortable with the exchange and ready to go meet her friends in the library. “Phil, I’ll see you later?”

“Yes, I want to walk down Spoffard Avenue with you later and daydream over the houses!” she called out to her friend as she swept away into library. She found most of her study group at their usual table, sans Priscilla. Gilbert looked up at her like a puppy whose owner had just returned home, scooting over to indicate the empty chair next to him had been saved for her. She took the empty chair across from him instead, ignoring his brief look of disappointment.

“Alright. William and I are ready to pull our grades back up to an A, isn’t that right?” she looked over at the bespectacled boy in question.

“Meh, I’d settle for a C to be honest.”

“Where is your ambition? You didn’t come to Redmond to settle for average, I’m sure!” Anne tried to rally the twitchy young man by appealing to his intellect, something she knew he had in spades.

“There’s no shame in being average, Anne. For some of us it was the most we could hope to strive for growing up,” Stella defended William. Stella and William had a strange relationship. They seemed to have the same wry, sarcastic outlook on life and both were studying Philosophy and yet they seemed to irritate each other to no end. Then there were times like these when they rushed to the other’s defense.

“I can’t think of anything more crushing,” said Anne earnestly. “I would rather be infamous than unremarkable,” she explained. “Does that make me terribly wicked?” she asked when the others shook their heads or laughed.

“Wicked? Are you talking about that senior, Anne?” Priscilla appeared, taking the empty seat next to Gilbert.

“What are you talking about?” Charlie asked as Anne blushed.

“I was just behind Anne and Phil on the walk over. I saw you stop and chat with him. He’s a _senior_ and quite dashing. Tall, broad-shouldered,” Pris teased. “And he was all over our little Anne, here.” All but two people at the table seemed to be amused by this.

“I assure you, it was Phil he was interested in. _You_ were paying more attention to him than I was, Pris,” she said coldly. This got more oooohs from the table.

‘Enough! I haven’t got time to think about _boys_ right now! I have a _72_ to pull up in Science! And plenty else to be studying besides,” she said in exhaustion.

“Can we study now?” Gilbert said with a clenched jaw. The group reviewed and corrected their quizzes until everyone felt confident they understood where they had went wrong. An additional hour was spent reading the chapter for their next class. Charlie, Pris, and Stella, were bored but the girls didn’t want to head home without Anne.

“I don’t want to disrupt, but are you almost ready, Anne? If we’re late for dinner the Harvey sisters will be cross.”

“Oh, _hang_ the Harvey’s!” Anne’s outburst earned them a few curious looks and one Shush! from the librarian. “I’m too old for house mothers to dictate when I eat and sleep and see friends. I wish we could all just go in on a house to rent while we’re here. I had anticipated a little more freedom once I got here,” she tugged at the bottom of her corset through the tight fabric of her blouse.

“You two go on ahead and tell the Harvey’s that Anne had to study and to save her a plate. I’ll walk her back later,” Gilbert offered.

“You want me to do the same?” Charlie asked while standing to finally take his leave.

“I don’t want you to miss your dinner on my account, Gil-“

“It’s fine. I’m not finished studying yet, either. Go on ahead, fellows, I’ll face our landlady’s wrath myself later.”

“Wise choice,” William agreed, standing with their quiet companion, Thomas. “She’s so in love with you, she’ll forgive anything.”

“True! She’s probably slipping a love note under his pillow now,” Charlie laughed as they all departed, leaving only Gilbert and Anne. He moved to take the chair adjacent to her and leaned over her notes to check them.

“If I were you I would reiterate the distinction between alpha and beta rays in radiation here. It’s sure to be important in the next quiz.” Anne nodded and amended her notes, the only noise for a while being the scratching of their pens and the occasional cough of another student down an aisle of books. Every so often Anne would pose a question to Gilbert and he would scoot his chair closer each time, showing her the answer in the text. He had beautiful hands, she observed not for the first time. As he scanned through the pages and pointed things out she thought that he must have been born to perform surgery with hands like that. She wondered how they would look playing a musical instrument. Then again, he didn’t seem to take much interest in artistic pursuits. The sudden memory of those hands exploring her body, tugging and twisting gently at her nipples made her flush and she buried her face in her hands to gather her wits.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Finally she raised her face towards him and nodded mutely.

“I think I’ve made some good progress today and I’m ready to eat and get this- and get more comfortable,” she smoothed her hands down her stomach.

“Sounds good,” he nodded before packing his things away. They both strolled out of the library together towards St. John’s Street. When they were finally off campus, walking side by side in the twilight Gilbert softly offered,

“I’m sorry… that you have to wear things that make you uncomfortable.” Her eyes widened in embarrassment and he winced in preparation for the berating he was sure to receive. He knew better than to talk about a lady’s underclothes but he just couldn’t help but sympathize with her when she didn’t seem to be able to _breathe_ all day. He wanted to tell her that it was stupid and she should refuse to wear it. He wanted to burn the offensive thing himself for hurting her. All the time and effort women put into their appearance had always seemed ridiculous to him, but when he saw it through the perspective of the one woman with whom he felt he shared a soul it just made him resentful and angry. Why should Anne have to spend what was sure to be at least four times as long on her hair as he did in the morning? To wear clothes that restricted, pinched, and limited her when he was able to get along in society just fine with clothes he felt comfortable in? She was a wood sprite, she belonged deep in the trees, her hair styled by the wind, wearing earthen garments of leaves and flowers and moss. She shouldn’t be suffocated by the social conventions of people who weren’t even worthy of her time.

“I shouldn’t have put it off so long. If I’d started with the other girls… But I didn’t care about so many people’s opinions in Avonlea. Especially with Ms. Stacy there as a role model,” she sighed. “I’ll get used to it.”

“She had a lot to lose by not fitting into the box people expected her in. But she stood up for herself anyway. You shouldn’t worry about people’s opinions if… if it is inflicting _pain_ on you, Anne,” this was as intimate a conversation they had come close to since the aftermath of that night and both of their hearts were pounding.

“I can just see myself going to the next freshman picnic like that. Even Phil couldn’t save me from the scandal,” she huffed.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried about impressing all of her friends,” there was a twinge of bitterness in his voice that made her glance over at him. “You could congratulate yourself on removing all the oil-slick phonies from your circle in one fell swoop.”

“I don’t care about _impressing_ anyone. But there is a higher standard in the city when it comes to… appearances of respectability. I already have a lot to prove, having no people. I feel lucky that I’ve gained the acceptance that I _have_ when they all start talking about _which_ branch of the Novia Scotia Cornwallis’ they hail from, or where their family is ‘summering’ next year-”

“Of course they don’t care! Fellows like that, Anne, they- … They don’t care _where_ a cute girl comes from when they- they _consider_ her. And those rich old money types see girls from humble roots as play things. That’s _especially_ the case when seniors pick out freshman girls,” he couldn’t stop his desperate appeal. She bristled and tossed her head archly.

“And how would you know? Or does it take one to know one?” she stopped when he grabbed her by the elbow. She was just about to protest when the look of dangerous sincerity on his handsome face sent a chill down her back.

“Anne. Tell me you know that I’m not like that.” He was so, painfully serious that she couldn’t find it in her heart to push the subject any further, teasing or otherwise. She nodded and pulled out of his grip.

“I know you’re not. But you do pretend to know an awful lot about people you’ve never met,” she continued walking.

“I’m surrounded by college men all the time, Anne. I live with them, I hear what they talk about when there are no ladies around. I know how they see things… And there are more men like that than you might like to think. Entirely too many. I’d venture to say at least half of them are cads and the other half wish that they were.”

“So by your own admission Charlie, Thomas, William… and _you_  are either cads or are hoping to be,” she teased, hoping to skirt away from the chilling way he talked about her other potential suitors. He smiled.

“Charlie and William are definitely hoping to be. Thomas… I don’t think Thomas notices women,” he observed. “He’s an interesting fellow.”

“I’ve barely heard him utter ten words together! He could be a well-spring of passion for all I know!” Her exuberant laugh made him feel more at peace and he laughed with her.

“They do say still waters run deep.”

“ _Or…”_ she glanced up at him to test his reaction, “He likes _boys_.” That made his eyebrows shoot up and she couldn’t help her spill of laughter again.

“I hadn’t really considered that… I think there are _some_ in our class but I’m not convinced he’s among them.” Anne beamed at him and slid closer to him until her shoulder knocked into him playfully.

“Uh-huh. And you have noticed them becaaaaause, they’re already throwing themselves at you, too.” This made him blush and shake his head with an embarrassed grin.

“Nooo,” he protested.

“I think so. I think in addition to all of the glamorous Redmond girls and _landladies_ in Kingsport, Gilbert Blythe now has to fight off the attentions of amorous boys in the changing rooms of the football team-“

“ _No!”_ he continued, blushing and knocking her back with his own shoulder only to have her come right back in, elbowing him.

“Oh, yes! That’s why half of them joined the team. So they can grapple with you, sweaty and grunting, hoping for an errant slip of the hand-“

“ _Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,”_ he stopped dead in his tracks, blushing and wide eyed. He had never heard her talk this way before and it was a little frightening (and the subject aside, a _lot_ exciting). “I’m going to write to Ms. Cuthbert and tell her that college has taken the once pure imagination of her charge and turned it towards wanton notions of _me,_ a humble pre-med student from the country, ‘sweaty’ and ‘grunting’- and with _other men!_ While engaged in an honest athletic pastime.” She was walking ahead of him now and he quickly caught up to her, worried he’d pushed it too far. But she had brought it up!

“Write her. But give her more details when you do. She needs something to read on those cold, lonely winter nights ahead.”

Was Anne flirting with him? Leave it to her to get mischievous about him in the context of a ‘fantasy’ that he found so repulsive. No offense to men that were like that, it’s just that Gilbert didn’t like the picture she painted of _him_ in this story. They were close to her boarding house now and he wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Then we should make a pact. If you protect me from my male admirers, I’ll protect you from yours.” She rolled her eyes.

“I still haven’t found my footing in school yet. I don’t need those kinds of distractions,” she mused. It was the closest thing to reassurance that she had given him, as tremulous as it was, and he held on to it tightly. As they parted at the gate and he watched her enter the house, he silently promised that he would wait as long as it took for her to be ready.

When Anne entered the building she prepared to make her apologies to the Harvey twins. Sure enough, they were very offended that she hadn’t given them notice that she’d be missing dinner. No manner of explanations and academic appeals would win them. They reminded her that dinner was at 6 pm every evening and that they were very put out when she hadn’t been there. After a long winded apology and vow to never let it happen again, Anne was finally able to eat her plate in the kitchen. At least they had kept the plate warm for her. It was difficult to eat very much in her corset, something she noted not for the first time. When she was finished she stripped to her chemise in the limited privacy of her room, earning a whistle from Stella.

“My, my, Ms. Shirley. Are we getting a free show?”

“Stella!” Pris scolded before chortling into her crochet work.

“What do you say, girls? Let’s rent a place next semester? If we can find something affordable, that is. We can cook when we want, come and go as we please. Answer to no one but each other- we _would_ look out for each other, of course. It’s hard enough to concentrate around here with no forests or fields or brooks… I simply have to carve a little space out for myself,” came Anne’s impassioned speech.

“I’m all for it. The boarding house made great sense when we didn’t know the city. But if we start exploring on the weekends maybe we’ll find something that could work not too far from campus,” Pris assented.

“Agreed! I’m getting tired of censoring myself at dinner. It’s bad for your unconscious mind to censor yourself,” Stella explained. The girls put together a rough idea of what their household budget might be and how far from campus they were willing to move. Afterwards they chatted into the night about acquaintances, encounters they’d had that day, and eventually of their dreams. Free to breathe and dream again Anne looked out her window and sighed.

“At least you can see some of the stars here. You can see every last one of them in Avonlea. There’s no smog and pollution. Sometimes if you lay out in the hay with the barn door open you can count several shooting stars in one night. I’d give anything to see a shooting star tonight.”

“Do you have a wish to make, Anne?” Pris asked from her bed.

“Yes. A thousand of them. But I’ll start with my grades. If I can’t be the top of my class I don’t know what I think I’m doing here.”

“That’s an awful lot of pressure. Just stick to the things you’re good at. Trying to be the best at everything is just a recipe for disappointment,” Stella supplied.

“But I’ll be more disappointed if I don’t _try_. What if I’m good at things that I don’t even know yet? What if I _love_ the Sciences but I never know because I barely scraped through my freshman Science course? I can’t bear to see doors closed right in front of me. It seems no matter what choice I make I am shutting out three other opportunities by choosing it. No. I have to try it all. How else will I know what I’m good at?”

“You know that you’re good at writing! Story telling lights you up. That’s a start,” Pris offered.

“Yes. That’s a start,” Anne mused, looking out at the stars over St. John’s graveyard.


	14. Concentrated Effort

_There was nothing else in Gilbert’s line of vision but soft, milky skin. The rise and fall of a stomach with every breath. The outline of a ribcage as her back arched up towards him. He moved his hand over the silken flesh, whetting his heightened sensation. This wasn’t like the other dreams he’d had before the end of the summer. In those dreams only his feeble imagination could illustrate his fantasies, but now his dreams were lucid and palpable with living memory. Her body appeared as it had that night, the noises she made, the words…_

_These dreams were a combination of memory and fantasy. And like most dreams, they weren’t entirely linear or coherent. The dreamscape shifted between landscapes of her legs, the measured rolling of her hips, the long, lean lines of her stomach, navel, waist, her supple, pliant breasts… So soft and round and malleable. Her stiff, pink nipples. He was already experiencing a sensory overload..._

_Her freckled shoulders, Her long, pale arms were curled around her head, the curve of her elegant fingers falling so delicately next to her face. Her hands were so lovely. He loved the shape of them, the shape of her fingers and her nails, so small and white and elegant. Her blue eyes were dilated and heavy-lidded but they were always open, piercing him with her returned desire in every dream. Her eyes were so clear and bright, even her eyelashes were light. There was never any artfulness to them. They always betrayed whatever she was feeling, and he’d studied them like a book over the years, every flash of annoyance, concentrated moment, every jubilation. They were glassy with lust now. She couldn’t hide from him, he could see how much she wanted him. The sight alone was intoxicating. He never, ever wanted to look away when she watched him with those bright blue eyes glazed with passion._

_… Anne’s plush, red lips. So ripe and sumptuous and full. The way they moved, the way the parted, just barely showing her teeth, the way they looked when she bit the lower one. The warm smattering of freckles all over her delicate face. The darkest ones always drew his eyes first, at the bottom corner of her mouth, the two between her eyebrows._ All _of them, dusted over her face, beckoning to be kissed.  Anne’s face. She was a work of art, as dainty as a robin. How could someone so tiny and delicate be so robust? He had been afraid of breaking her, but she had been so fervent. Flaming. Her hair spilled around her in a fiery crown. A long strand stretched down, obscuring one nipple and he swept his thumb across it, making her squirm and illicit a heady whimper. He flamed with her, feeling his body reach another height of pleasure even in his sleep._

_Now she was climbing into his lap on all fours, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she moved to straddle him. He could see all of her all at once, as though he were standing a few feet away, and at the same time he was staring at her exquisite face from inches away, drinking in her look of yearning. He could see her sex up close as she straddled his lap, legs apart, ready to swallow him whole. He could smell it, taste it, feel the texture as if it were real, dripping on his fingers. She sighed, momentarily closing her eyes before staring into his with all of his love reflected back to him. She rolled her body closer to him, pressing herself into him. She sank her pink, glistening center over him rhythmically and he was everywhere. He was watching the place where he disappeared inside her over and over again. He was watching her shoulders tense and relax, the arc of her back, her legs squeezing his midsection, the place her ankles crossed over each other at the small of his back. He was watching the way her throat moved, her lips parted… her magnetic eyes. Her eyes transfixed him, anchors in this montage of flesh, pleading for him. They aroused him more than any other image in the dream. She looked at him just as she had that night._

_The warmth of her creamy skin was memory, not fantasy. The way it yielded beneath his fingers, was memory. The way his hand travelled up her back and back down again. That wasn’t just a fantasy anymore either. He knew exactly how it felt. Exactly where the faint, hidden freckles were on her ambrosial body. He slid his hand up to the back of her head, burying it in her hair. The way her sweet quim squeezed impossibly tight over his cock, milking the rapture from his body._ A real, living memory. _Though he buried his face in her neck, taking all of her warmth and her scent, he could still see her eyes. The warmth of her moon-pale skin was all around him, against every inch of him. He could feel it envelope him like air._

_“Gil,” her whispers were haggard and he could hear her, see her full lips moving even though he could feel her kiss him, his mouth, his neck, his shoulders. She scraped her teeth over his jaw and shoulders but still he could see and hear her._ Anne’s _voice. That sweet, tinkling bell voice reverberating with pleasure. Pleasure that only he had ever given her. Only he had touched her. Only his name cracking her voice. “Gil! Please,” she begged, “I need you. I_ need _you, Gil…” Her pleading punctuated her sighs. “Only you... Oh, Gil, I love you. I_ love _you!” The last words pushed him over the edge and he was driving into her so hard, a sudden flash of heat spreading in his chest and lower still. “_ I love you, Gil. _So much. Oh, darling. I love you- Unh!_ Gil _-bert._ Gil _-bert.” She was sobbing his name in her climax. His full name spilling from her lips like bubbles of breath being racked from her body. He could hear it. Her Anne voice, succumbing to the magnitude of her love for him. “Gilbert, I love you,” she clung to him like she was drowning, pledged her devotion with weeping intonations._ Their joy washed over him and he really thought that he might be dead. This was his best guess at what eternity in bliss might look like. But, instead he woke in his bed at the boarding house, only a little startled.

 He looked around in the dim morning light, noting his sleeping roommates, and figured it must still be early. With a grimace he noticed how real the dream had been to him and decided he would clean up his mess but only after he woke in another hour or so. He banged his head on his pillow in self-disgust. _‘What am I? Fourteen years old?!’_ Gilbert wasn’t disgusted at himself for desiring Anne. He had long since accepted this unalienable fact. It was the new frequency and intensity of these destabilizing feelings he was frustrated with. He had not struggled too terribly to occupy his mind with all of the distractions that college afforded him in bountiful supply. Pledging for Lambda Theta, the football team, and his new campaign for class president would be plenty to keep his mind busy when he wasn’t studying. And there was _plenty_ of studying to be getting on with if he wanted to secure more scholarships. He’d met a lot of new friends and acquaintances, never lacking for engaging conversations or company.

 It was difficult to keep Anne close at college when they weren’t even engaged. They were both focused on their studies, making time to socialize and mingle and that was a good thing. Even if she did love him, they would both want a life filled with learning, friendships, and adventure. That’s what they were both doing. Only, not as a team. Not really. The study group helped to keep her in his sphere, and it already looked like she was happy to be his escort to the picnics and dinners that were held at Redmond. The course was running smoothly so far, unwanted admirers notwithstanding. One of his classmates, Dan Ranger, had made mention of wanting to call on her some evening after she gave that incredible recitation of _In Memoriam_ by Tennyson at the Philomathic. He had awkwardly asked Gilbert if Anne was spoken for and he panicked, not knowing how to answer. He wrestled with his instinct to say, ‘Yes! So steer clear of her!’ to Dan and any man listening but knew that would end badly for him. Instead he gave a lumbering, ‘Well, not _exactly_ ’ and other non-committal utterances that were weighed as though they might get back around to her before Dan had left him alone.

He wasn’t really doing all that bad with the “Anne distractions”, considering. Sure, if that night had never happened he would find it _much_ easier, but he could never wish it away. Even when it was clawing at him, clouding his mind with anxiety, hope, and blind lust.  He was excellent at compartmentalizing, choosing a path for his mind to go down and following it to completion. In the past when they’d study together he found it easy to focus on their lessons and not the proximity of her body to his… within reason. He, like his father, was a goal oriented person and he had plenty of other goals besides Anne. The way he saw it, she was at the finish line, waiting for him to be worthy of her. A future where he was a practicing doctor with accolades, a steady income, the self-assurance of his potential achieved, lives saved by his own wit and work of his hands which might otherwise have been lost- that was what he wanted for himself. And he would build that future. It was in sight. He may not be certain of Anne’s feelings but he was certain of that, and he took great pride and comfort in it. Through respect he could earn her affection. Desire was already there. At least, it had been. But that had only been three months ago! Yes, his chances were strong and all he needed was to be Gilbert Blythe again, not a pathetic mope who sat around waiting for the girl to look his way.

He had made a bargain with himself: Unless Anne was in the same room with him he would relegate his thoughts of her to when he was laying down for bed. Only then would he indulge. If he hadn’t made _some_ sort of agreement with his traitorous mind on the subject he wouldn’t be able to tame it at all and would certainly go mad. He’d learned that the hard way, nearly crawling out of his skin with desire for her back in Avonlea after they had made love. It had taken what seemed like weeks to get to a semblance of mental stability.

 However, it was not yet time to awake… With only a little, delicious shame, he wanted to feel messy a bit longer. He wanted to revel in the damp, spent feeling below as he cuddled the red, checkered blanket he kept hidden under the sheets with him. He did this every so often. The blanket he had brought to the little meadow for them that night, the one they laid on… the one she spilled over, soaking the spot through. When he felt the need and he thought he wouldn’t be seen he would pull that blanket out of the bottom of his trunk and take it to bed with him like he had back in Avonlea in the aftermath. If any of his roommates had seen it he might be able to bear the embarrassment of pretending it was an old, childhood relic to assuage homesickness, but he really preferred not to answer for it at all. Especially if Charlie ever saw fit to tease him about it in front of Anne. All he needed was Charlie describing his ‘comfort blanket’ in front of her, telling her how he clung to it in his bed. He didn’t want to imagine her reaction. It wasn’t gross and it wasn’t weird. It simply helped him relax, that’s all.

With a dejected sigh, he buried his face in that center spot of the fabric and breathed it in. When he was awake later he would get a grip. He would. Gilbert could do that. He was good at that. It was his intelligence she admired most, and he wouldn’t slip now. He was going to make _everyone_ proud of him, not least of all himself. With a quiet groan of irritation at his own mind, he decided he would recite the periodic table of elements to put his brain to better use. But not now. Now for a little while longer, before he had to wake up and get clean, he would allow himself to savor his dream for a little while. It was persistent. And he could still find the now faint fragrance on his blanket, so he kissed it and tried to drift back to sleep, indulging in the dream, turning it from a fantasy into a plan.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Anne, as happy as I am for you on your success, can we _please_ talk about something else!” Phil twirled herself forward, holding Anne’s hand.

“Some of us actually value our education, Phil. Anne worked very hard to pull up her science grade from the last quiz,” Pris remarked.

“To a 91, mind you,” Anne interjected but was met with a loud groan from her friend. She reached her hand out again to Phil’s and caught it, twirling her back to her side. “Alright, alright! Enough talk of Science-“

“ _Science!”_ cried Pris and Stella in unified deep voice, as was their habit when they heard the word.

“-and school of any kind! We are here to enjoy nature… and to admire all the fine houses here on millionaire’s row,” Anne conceded.

“They’re all too grand for me,” Stella wrinkled her nose.

“What about that one!” Anne cried out, eyes having fallen on the unique construction at the end of the block. “It’s not ostentatious at all. It looks like it was grown rather than built. Oh, look at the pines that swoop over the path! The green shutters and all of that wonderful gold and green ivy. Look at the sweet may and lemon verbena in the garden! Marigolds… petunias… alyssum. The herringbone pattern on the little brick wall. That _front porch._ Was it transplanted here from the country?? Oh, I get one of my old, funny aches just looking at it.”

“It has a name! Look at the sign: Patty’s Place,” Pris pointed out.

“It was built by old Aaron Spofford, yes, of Spofford Avenue, and willed to his sister Patty. Now she and her niece Maria live there alone. They must have resisted updating it,” Phil told them proudly.

“We could never afford to rent anywhere on Spofford, though, Phil,” Pris reminded her of their budget.

“Oh, I know that. I just wanted you to see it!”

“I’m so glad you did. It lifts my spirits that a dear little home like this should exist in this place. Thank you so much, Phil!” Anne wrapped her arms around the girl and kissed her cheek with as much vim had Phil gifted her the house itself. After admiring it for a time, the girls moved on towards their destination picnic in the cemetery. As they laid out their spread they chattered about Phil’s favorite topic.

“I hadn’t realized that I’d added Alonzo’s post script to Alec’s letter until he wrote me back in a fit.”

Anne’s face paled. She couldn’t imagine the horror of something like that happening to her, but then again she didn’t have to. When she heard Phil’s stories, or any stories of romantic intrigue, she had an old habit of slipping a veil of separation between herself and the fantasy. For Anne, romance was a vicarious thrill, and never could she allow the image of herself to taint the fantastic picture.

“You must have wanted to do it,” Stella shrugged, taking a bite of her apple.

“I beg your pardon! I most certainly did not.” Phil cried. The girls watched her, waiting for her to swallow her bite and explain.

“Don’t you see? You can’t choose between Alec and Alonzo because you’re not crazy enough about either of them. You are subconsciously trying to sabotage things with them because you are too afraid to tell them to leave you alone.” Stella was cool with her diagnosis but Phil was getting red in the face.

“Stella Maynard, take that back. I don’t see what I’ve done to deserve you calling me a coward, and that I hurt Alec intentionally! I think it’s terribly mean of you.”

“Phil, I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to help you understand. There are no accidents. Even slips of the tongue belay our secret fears and desires.”

“Why don’t you turn your analysis on yourself some time. Or maybe I should and see how you like it,” was Phil’s retort. “Maybe _you_ never make an effort on your appearance or your manners because you’re afraid of being rejected so you want to get it over with.”

“That’s enough, now!” Pris cried.

“Phil, stop it. Stella doesn’t mean any harm. Don’t be cruel on purpose,” Anne tried to play at mediator.

“No, don’t stop her. I want her to use her head for something insightful. Keep going, Phil. You might stumble onto something,” Stella urged. This only made Phil angrier.

“I think,” she began, “I think you want to push William Jennings away with your surliness and lack of effort on yourself! You like him but you don’t want to be rejected so you try to make yourself as unattractive to him, to prove yourself right that he might not want you.”

        The group went quiet, and Stella cast her eyes down from the three girls staring at her. Pris finally spoke.

        “You’re wrong, Phil. William likes her the way she is. That’s evident. He’s not the sort to call on a girl, he’s too self conscious. But if Stella is dour with him, he likes it. They’re cut from the same cloth.”

        Anne felt she had nothing to contribute to this discussion but added,

        “That’s enough now. Enough talk of boys and who likes who and all such nonsense. You’re proving right all the people who don’t want women to have the vote. How _any_ of you can think of romantic relationships while there is so much in the world to discover and learn is beyond me. There is so much to do here! Do you realize that _Henrietta Edwards_ is coming to Kingsport to speak at the end of this week? One of the most incredible women in the country, founder of the Working Women’s Association, an authoress and advocate for our _rights._ While you’re all busy clucking about _men,_ our sisters are toiling for our equality!” Anne took a deep breath after her tirade, looking around at the conflicted faces of her peers.

        “You’re one to talk, Anne. You’re the most romantic one among us,” Phil crossed her arms.

        “Isn’t all of your writing about princesses waiting for princes to come rescue them?” Pris posed.

        “Yes, Anne. As much as I like your ideals, most of your storytelling of handsome heroes and beautiful maidens makes all of your diatribes about equality sound more like pent up sexual frustration directed at the male gender for failing to meet your impossibly high standards. Before you get cross, I’m a suffragist, too! I’m merely pointing out where your threads are getting tangled. Are you sure that you’ll still be as staunch about equality and all that if _you_ landed your dream husband?” Stella finished. Phil raised her eyebrows and watched for Anne’s reaction. After a moment of opening and closing her mouth like some sort of dumb trout, Anne finally answered.

        “You may have a point about my writing but not about my beliefs. I’ve suspected for some time now that some of my stories need updating. The heroines in particular. They were all very romantic when I was a little girl, wishing away my homeliness and imagining what it might like to be loved. I still idealize love, that’s true enough. And I may still write about it! I think in its true, purest form it’s a noble desire for men and women alike. But I have _evolved._ There has to be something of substance in a woman’s life apart from her relationships. What works are there of women bravely riding into battle to defend her homeland from foreign invaders? Of clever women who outwit the antagonist with sorcery, releasing the full force of her power? Stories of women whose driving force isn’t devotion to a man but to higher ideals of honor, faith, duty, glory, resilience, wisdom… No. My story isn’t written yet. There is so much work to do in this world to dispel prejudice in all of its vicious forms. I want to write stories of high-mindedness. Do my part to build a world that everyone can live in with dignity.”

 There was laughter and even a ‘hear, hear’ from Priscilla. It seemed Anne had succeeded in making at least their outing rosier than it had been a few moments before.

“I would love to be a sorceress,” Phil confided. “I would study every spell there was and hold the world in my thrall.”

“Me too!” Stella agreed, bonding with the handsome brunette.

“I wouldn’t want a role with too much grandeur,” Pris contemplated. “I would want a private little flying machine that I could sail through the stars with. Just discovering in solitude with creation.” They all awed.

“Pris, that’s a lovely thought. What would I do if there was a flying ship that could take tourists to the moon? What would it be like there? Is it filled with lustrous pearl-sheened lakes? Would they build resorts beside the most beautiful ones and would bathing in them feel like swimming in heavy cream? Oh, imagine what kind of flowers grow there,” Anne couldn’t help but gasp at her own idea. “Are they colorful and bright like the earth? Or are they whi- _Oh!_ Girls! What would the earth look like from that far away?! Imagine looking up and seeing the earth hanging in the sky the way we do the moon and the sun.” She awed again at the creations of her own imagination and laughed.

“Our moon doesn’t even have a name. Jupiter’s moons have names: Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto,” Pris told them.

“I thought it was Luna,” Phil mused.

“Luna is just Latin for moon. I’ll never forget my disappointment on the first day of Latin class when I learned that,” Anne sighed. “Should we name the moon?”

“No! I like Luna. Everyone’s name means something so the Latin origins shouldn’t matter. Or simply ‘the moon’ as though it is the primary moon, the only one of consideration. All other moons are a variation,” Pris campaigned. Anne wasn’t convinced but held her peace. She thought to her own moon goddess, Diana.

 What would she think of her changing ideals? They had spoken a lot about the inequality of the sexes over the years, of thwarting traditional feminine roles. For Diana they were flights of fancy. She was doing as she had always promised she would, packing away her sheet music and closing the lid on the keys of her piano only to open the lid of her trousseau. Anne was glad that Diana was experiencing the thrill of love, but at what cost? She couldn’t understand men who fell in love with a girl only to expect her to stop being _her_ when she became his wife. Was love just some game? A hunt? The huntsman tracked his prey, thinking only of the catch. He studied the habits and movements of his game, congratulating himself on his cunning as he stalked it, his mind trained only on having it for his own. Then it was over. He ensnared his elusive prize and devoured it. He might only recall her if she gave him an exhilarating enough chase, boasting about his prowess. But it was all over.

She knew not all men were that way, but she’d enough marriages that seemed like the result of a long forgotten adventure, a domestication of a wild animal like some sort of trophy. Either the woman’s spirit had broken to accept her state or the two continued to battle resentfully until one of them died. Even good men seemed to look at marriage this way, as though it couldn’t be anything else. The only way Anne would ever marry is if she met a man who saw marriage itself the way she did. But how would she know that her choice wouldn’t alter after the ceremony? She would have to carefully vet him. Maybe Stella wasn’t as conflicted as Phil assumed. Maybe she had the right idea about testing William.

If she had it her way Anne would sweep in and rescue Diana but Diana did not want to be rescued. She seemed intent on some sort of conjugal prison. And if that truly made Diana happy who was she to interfere? No one at all. All she could do was love Diana, support her, and always be available to her when she was needed. She missed their friendship bitterly. Not having anyone to talk to about… everything that had happened, how she had to build a dam in her own brain to contain all of the useless, distracting things about Gilbert… Who could she talk to? No one at all. Secrets were terrible things, she decided. But she had made her bed and now it was a test for her character to charge ahead. Was this what it meant to be a worldly woman? And why had she wanted so much to be like this, isolated and conflicted?

“I’m going to make a solemn vow here and now, my Crimson and White Sisters will bear me witness,” Anne began hotly. “I am going to win that English scholarship in the spring. I am going to try for _more_ than the English scholarship. I want to be the top of every class and graduate as valedictorian. I will drink from Euclid’s cup until Geometry is as simple as adding sums. I will speak Latin and Greek- and maybe even French as well as a native speaker. I will be as well versed in the Sciences as Professor Moore. Even as I seek to conquer the more difficult endeavors I will stay alert and not neglect my greatest strength: English. I will publish a creative work before I graduate. My cap and gown will be decorated with honors. Starting with this spring, no one, no matter how clever and focused and mature and- _no one_ is going to take the English scholarship from me, at the very least. If I have to forgo sleep, meals, and parties I will abandon them all for the top ranking in English and that scholarship is going to be my gold medal.”

None of her friends contested her.


	15. Redmond Days Pt. I

Christmas break was two weeks away and Anne was counting down the days until she would see Avonlea again. Her letters from home made her feel that she had missed a dazzling autumn and she felt a physical ache for the scenery of the island. Proudly, her grades were high in all of her classes, though she didn’t have the highest place in any save English. Anne was still stubbornly determined to be the top student in all subjects and was studying like a recluse for her final exams.

“But you didn’t come to Elizabeth Travers’ dinner party, either! Anne, I’m worried that you’re becoming a bore,” Phil lamented in the campus canteen. Anne’s table was loaded with books, set off only by a teapot, cup, and a scone.

“I’m sorry, Phil, but if you weren’t so outstanding in Ethics I wouldn’t have to work so hard to top you,” Anne replied from her book primly. Her companion groaned.

“I’ll fail my final exam for you if you’ll just agree to go ice skating!”

“Phil! You wouldn’t!” She had her attention.

“I would too if it would make you my friend again,” she replied.

“Don’t you dare,” Anne felt guilty. “Darling, have I really been such an abysmal friend?”

“I never see you anymore. You’ve actually made me _jealous_ of your silly little study group. Please won’t you come? You’ve already refused to go to Bolingbroke with me for the holidays.”

“Phil, it’s just that I miss Green Gables so much. Please don’t take it personally.” Seeing Phil’s pout and shining, downcast eyes she sighed. “I will go ice skating. But I am leaving early because I _must_ memorize this Latin.”

“Hooray!” Phil cried out, drawing the attention of nearby diners. “Wear your blue coat and hat. You look like a picture in them. With a white scarf and gloves.”

“I don’t have a white scarf and gloves,” Anne protested with amusement.

“I’ll bring you mine. I want everyone to see how pretty my friends are and you do look spectacular against a snowy backdrop. You know, Hugh Douglas was asking about you at the football game the other day. I’m not the only one that has felt your absence,” Phil hummed. Anne grimaced, making her laugh.

“I should hardly want to pair up with another redhead.”

“You are ridiculous! Hugh Douglas is quite handsome. Maybe I’ll skate with him today… He’s not as handsome as Gilbert Blythe, of course, but you know Gilbert never pays me any attention at all. He only ever looks at me like some little kitten that he wants to pat on the head. I suppose I owe you the grudge,” she knocked their shoulders together. Anne disappointed Phil by ignoring any remark mentioning Gilbert.

“But of course I love you madly. I’m simply miserable if I don’t see you every day.”

Anne decided she would get no more studying accomplished, now that Phil had caught her, and gave up. The two decided to walk down Spofford Avenue again and though Phil had lifted her spirits considerably, all thoughts of Latin left Anne’s mind swiftly when they reached Patty’s Place and noticed a “For Let” sign on the door.

“It’s sure to be too expensive-“

“And probably already taken-”

“But we have to try!”

“We _must!”_

The girls climbed the steps of the little floral dream home on what had been nicknamed ‘millionaire’s way’ and knocked on the door. Anne’s nerves were a wreck. It was too good to be true but right now it seemed like destiny. The door was answered by a rather ancient looking handmaiden who led them to the large living room. The girls couldn’t help but drink in the details of the inside of the home. It was large enough and yet everything from the grandfather clock to the carpet on the stairs made the place find that perfect balance of magnificent yet cozy. Anne couldn’t have dreamed it any dearer. In the living room sat two older ladies who looked very much alike, one in her fifties and the other in her seventies. They wore little caps and shawls as they knitted away. Anne noticed two little china dogs on the mantle with green ears, spots, and noses. They seemed to sit as guardians of the house. It was all just so darling and homey.

“About the sign? Oh, yes. I meant to take that down today,” the older one, Ms. Patty, answered their polite inquiries.

“So it’s already taken?” Anne’s heart sunk. But she and this house had been fated for each other!

“No, we just got tired of all the people who came to ask. We don’t _need_ the money for our trip to Europe. We have plenty. And I’d rather leave the house vacant than let it to someone who didn’t love it.”

“How could anyone not love it?  Even if it weren’t right next to the park, if it didn’t have a little apple orchard in place of a backyard, right here in the middle of the city- if it were placed in the Yukon tundra, it would still be the most enchanting home. The windows are like something out of a fairytale, not too new like the rest of the street. It’s a breath of fresh air next to all of the ostentation on Spofford. I did so want it, I love it,” Anne sighed. The older woman looked up from her knitting for the first time to access Anne.

“You _love_ it do you? Young girls throw the word love around for anything anymore,” Ms. Patty observed dryly.

“I do love it! Ever since I saw it I knew I wanted to live here. And now my three school chums and I are looking for a place to keep while we study,” Anne explained.

“Well, if you love it as you say, you can have it. I would much rather it went to someone who would care for it.” Ms. Patty named the amount and Anne’s heart sank as soon as it had risen at Ms. Patty’s acceptance.

“Oh. I see. I’m sorry, but that’s out of our budget. We’re just college students.”

“Well, what can you afford?” Anne named the amount gravely.

“That will do. As I said, we don’t strictly need the money. We aren’t rich but we have enough to go to Europe. My niece Maria has a fancy to go and she can’t go alone, of course.”

“Yes, of course!” Anne and Phil laughed jubilantly.

“We sail just after Christmas. I will send you the key and we will pack away the things we prize especially and leave the rest,” the lady told them matter-of-factly.

“Could you leave out the china dogs?” Anne pleaded, surprising herself.

“Do you like them?”

“Indeed! I think they’re delightful.”

A pleased expression grew on Ms. Patty’s face and with a twinkle in her eye she appraised the petite redheaded beauty again. Yes. She would be just right for the house.

 

  


  
The study group, usually meeting on Tuesdays, had planned extra sessions in preparation for the final exam but weekends were sacrosanct for social lives. Football season had finally come to an end, leaving Gilbert’s schedule more open than it had previously been. Anne had been embarrassed to see him at the lake while ice skating with her friends after previously telling him she couldn’t go with him, having planned on studying. He seemed to take it in stride, but she still felt uneasy. What if he got the impression that she was trying to avoid him? Would he think she was trying to put distance between them because of their history? Would he withdraw himself from her life, taking the unintended ‘hint’? What if he started spending his free time with other girls? And really, wouldn’t that be for the best? She knew it was bound to happen sooner or later and she thought she had braced herself for the day she saw him walking on campus with a beautiful blonde music major… but she had been wrong.

 She didn’t know why all of these ideas caused her to worry. It seemed even the smallest interactions with him lately had left her confused and anxious. Since they had come to school she had felt like some sort of spinning children’s toy, not able to make up or even understand her own mind regarding Gilbert. When they were together she was happy! She felt relief every time he approached her, like she could finally breathe again. They were the best of friends. But then the creeping fear was always with them when they were together, like a shadow. Was all of his kindness friendly or did he want more? The thought terrified her. Was she inadvertently leading him on? She couldn’t have been more clear, but what if he had caught a crush for her as a result of their experience? Had he carried a crush for her before that night like her friends always hinted? Had she merely given him the ultimate false hope? In moments of this kind of gripping horror, she hoped a beautiful coed would catch his eye and she could put these fears behind her. Their friendship could finally find the right tone when they were both safely linked with other people… So why did her stomach clench when she saw him walking with that blonde?

That blonde was Emily Dunn and she was from Novia Scotia. She was a freshette, declared for music, and her family could afford to send her here without concern for her future career. She was likely here with the hope of finding a husband. Emily had been very sweet to Anne when they mingled at socials but Anne knew little of her personality. Was she very intelligent? Flirtatious? Did she have an incredible connection to music? What instrument did she play? Did she sing? Was Gilbert charmed by what Anne imagined was her angelic singing voice? She could see him now, eyes softening as he listened to Emily in some concert hall. Maybe he visited her at her boarding house on the nights he didn’t come to see her. Had there been others before Emily? In addition to? Was he serious about her? Did he think about her body? Feel lust for her?

Anne’s feelings of sadness were not linked to jealousy. They were merely concern that Gilbert wouldn’t be as close to her anymore if he had a stunning, creative, talented sweetheart who took up all of his attention and thoughts. And that Gilbert would regret giving to Anne that which he had said he wanted to save for his future wife. So the sadness was really more like guilt. Guilt at having done wrong by Gilbert somehow. And guilt from possibly taking from Emily that which should have been only hers. Were they already becoming an item? Would he tell her what had transpired between them at some point? Would the girl hate her? Tell everyone? None of the guilt, of course, had anything to do with potentially having given to a man (not ‘a man’ but _Gilbert_ ) something that a small voice in her heart hoped should be treasured forever. Something inside her that she had never been able to identify, but persistently existed for years now, was telling her ‘I told you so’. Whatever fleeting fancy Gilbert may have had for her (and there had to be _something_ or else he never could have participated, right?) was only that. He could never really care for someone like her in the long run. All the work she had once put into making him her enemy so that he couldn’t get close enough to own her, to discard her… It was all for naught. She had set her bleeding heart right into his hands and naturally, he took it for a toy. _I told you so._

Humiliation and shame adorned her and a long buried part of her despaired. His smirking face, his bids for her attention over the years. Schemes. He wanted to see if he could get the most ‘unattainable’ girl in Avonlea and he had proved himself. She was wasted and he had his fill. He had won after all. Had it been inevitable all along? But, no! It had been her idea. Her scheme. She couldn’t be owned by him when it was all of her own design. If anything, she owned _him_. And what better way to make sure he knew that then to not care? She was Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, after all. Her ‘virginity’ was nothing but an outdated, much resented barrier to her adulthood and she cast it away from her like a burden. He could have it if he wanted it as some sort of immature trophy. There were plenty of men at Redmond and thanks to their meaningless dalliance she was prepared to meet them as a woman of the world. All of these thoughts that swirled in her mind came to a halt, as always, the next time she saw him in person. Everything got shoved below the surface as could never resist returning his smile when he greeted her…

“…fed 15% SY medium when live yeast is added to the diet _or_ when additional odors from live yeast are added to the diet. Which of the following experiments should be repeated? Study 1 except with strain X or strain N…” William was reviewing the chapter aloud as the rest of them tried to work out the answer individually. They would compare answers at the end to see if they were ready for the test.

The subject matter was dull and tedious. Anne struggled to hold on to the areas of Science she found interesting but those were rarely on tests. Rote memorization and a little bit of logic, the kind you needed to solve puzzles, were the key and she wanted to be sharp. After working out the answer she reviewed her work, chewing on the end of her pen as she read, waiting for her companions to finish. As she waited she noticed Gilbert staring at her. He had apparently finished the question before she had. She gave him a wan smile and lowered her gaze to her paper, trying to forget the sight of him blushing when she caught him staring at the pen between her teeth. The group carried on for another twenty minutes, and the strain of all the studying was felt by the entire group. Before Anne knew it, Phil Gordon herself had appeared in all her finery and perched herself on the arm of Thomas’ chair.

“Hello, Study Group, I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is Phil. How do you do?” Her energy came like was like a splash of cold water to the beleaguered group of friends.

“Come to taunt us with your effortless mastery of your courseload, Phil?” Pris greeted her.

“Is that your library dress?” Stella observed how Phil seemed dressed for a night out.

“Why, no indeed. I come as prophetess: Put down your books, young people, for there is a whole city outside these walls! Is there anything more dispiriting than to see attractive youth waste the summer of their lives in the library,” Phil chastised them, starting to play with Anne’s bound hair. She knew Anne wouldn’t shrug her away in irritation like Stella or Pris might.

“It might be the summer of our lives but right now it’s winter in Kingsport and we have final exams-“ Charlie began.

“Winter! The year 1900 is only weeks away! You should be out celebrating the end of a century. Does that not thrill you?!” came Phil’s attempt at an inspiring lecture.

“It _is_ rather thrilling,” Anne reached up to stop Phil from pulling her hair down. “And you paint a lovely picture, Darling, but we all arranged our schedules for the purpose of preparing for the final exam. I promise to join you afterwards.”

“Aren’t we all pretty much finished here? It’s been over two hours,” William supplied.

“Yes! It’s been over two hours, Anne. Everyone is ready to leave but you. But I haven’t given up on you! In fact, you can still use your clever little mind where I’m taking you, so I’m meeting you in the middle.” Phil placed her hand on Anne’s shoulder.

“Are you referring to the Philosophy mixer?” Stella piqued. “Anne, you will go with us? I hate going to those things just to be interrupted and talked over by the men.”

“They’d be less likely to talk over you if you didn’t insist on making every conversation an argument—as though the prize for winning is the manhood of your opponent,” Phil scolded. Gilbert responded before Stella could defend herself.

“Well, it is _Philosophy,_ Phil. That’s sort of the point.”

“Precisely. And I don’t see why Stella should be made to feel inferior to any of the men there. Her opinions are just as valid. Your discrediting her is even more barbarous, being a woman yourself,” Anne rallied.

“It’s a _party._ There will be a Victrola playing music, food, and dancing! We can talk about plenty else besides the meaning of life and such. Come on! What do you say?” Her cheery friend appealed.

“I wouldn’t mind some lively discussion after hours of X and Y and experiment reviews,” Anne confessed. “But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Wear your forest green thing. It’s seasonal and not too formal. This is a casual affair. Sitting on the floor, that kind of thing,” Phil assured.

“Sounds like a plan!” Charlie slapped the arms of his chair in excitement. He was ready to leave an hour ago.

“I’ll come to your defense,” William tried to whisper to Stella. “ _If_ I agree with your point, of course.”

“You’ll take the credit for my thoughts, you mean,” Stella snubbed him. This exchange had been intended as private but the whole of the group had overheard and now there was a tension in the air.

“Did you tell the boys our news?” Phil cried, steering away from the couple’s display. She stood and opened her arms as though making an important announcement.

“Starting with the new semester, Phillipa Gordon, Priscilla Grant, Stella Maynard, and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert will be housemates in Spoffard Avenue’s ‘Patty’s Place’. What say you to  that?”

“How did you manage that?” Charlie asked in astonishment.

“It was all Anne’s doing. She walked right in and charmed the pre historic matrons who live there into giving it to us _in our budget_. They will be in Europe for at least two years!” Phil gloated.

“It didn’t happen exactly like that,” Anne demurred.

“I think it must have,” Pris wondered. “I think something of you is magic, Anne. I am still reeling! A room of my own and an apple orchard out back-“

“No whinging about my lamp light anymore. I can keep my own hours again!” Stella cheered. “And we can finally cook for ourselves.”

“It’s going to be like getting married only without the burden of a husband. Keeping our own house, putting all the furniture just like we want-“ Phil tittered.

“Yes, keeping our own house. Housekeeping. You’ll have to learn to push a broom, Phil,” Stella pressed upon her.

“I can learn how! And at any rate, my contributions are more decorative and financial. But I am determined to learn to make at least one meal, and yes, learn to push a broom. Gilbert, are you coming to the mixer, too?” Phil had a habit of giving people whiplash in conversation.

“It sounds like a decent enough way to unwind after a long day of studies,” Gilbert said simply.

“Splendid! So we’ll see you there. Save a dance for me, Gilbert, or I shall be very cross with you,” Phil ended before following the girls out of the library.

Phil was wonderful. Stella was an obstinate, challenging yet valued presence in her life. Priscilla was her sensible friend, with a quieter yet compelling point of view. Phil? Well, Phil was Phil. She was an uncorked bottle of champagne, a spinning top. Anne didn’t want to imagine her college life without the exhilaration Phil brought to it, and yet there were times when she would say things to or about Gilbert that made her want to gag the convivial girl and drag her out of the room by the hair. Phil stayed with the girls in their bedroom as they dressed for the get together, offering advice on how to style their hair and what accessories to don. As Phil riffled through Anne’s clothes she found something that made her gasp out loud.

“What is it?” Anne turned to ask her from the vanity between the two windows. Phil was holding up a summery white dress with little lace overlays on the mid length sleeves and at the hem. It was the dress Anne had worn when she laid with Gilbert and she had not worn it since. She couldn’t look at it the same way. What if he saw her wearing it? It might remind him. She knew the smart thing to do would be to throw it away and just tell Marilla that she ruined it but she couldn’t seem to compel herself. It seemed to belong there in the bottom of her trunk.

“Why have I never seen you wear this?” Phil demanded. “Haven’t I been telling you that you would look divine in all white?”

“It’s too thin,” was Anne’s tactical reply.

“You’re wearing it when it gets warmer,” Phil informed her.

“We’ll see…” Anne took the dress from her grasp gently, folding it with care and burying it at the bottom of the trunk again, ignoring Phil’s curious audience work.

The party wasn’t exactly a hall filled with the brawny, strapping figures of intellectualism that Anne had fancied, but all the Philosophy majors were thinkers, at least. But despite the “free flowing of ideas” there was still a stuffiness in the air. Cliquishness, ego, and an overall sense of conditional welcome. Some thought about deft ways of displaying their knowledge to each other in the most obnoxious way possible. Others seemed to think that the more vague and lofty you sounded, the more enlightened you were. And still others seemed to think that if you disagreed with their theories, you must not understand their point. Anne seemed to be experiencing the latter one even more than the others. As she stood with Stella and two young men she had never conversed with before, she started to see more and more Stella’s point about the boys club.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is tedious,” Anne confessed to the girls.

“I thought you’d like coming to a party where everyone talked about deep things,” Phil said, sipping her punch and wrinkling her nose.

“Everyone but the girls. Every time I supply an opinion of my own they look at me like I’ve grown two heads. Even when I’m agreeing with them!” Anne complained.

“I told you. This is why I can barely stand these things,” Stella concurred with Anne.

“That boy over there with the big nose all but called me an idiot because I agree with Renee Descartes on mind-body dualism!” Anne sniffed.

“He did not call you an idiot-“ Phil was interrupted by her fiery companion

“He said, dripping with condescension, ‘Reductive Physicalism is complex even for many _men_ to grasp’. It took all I had not to-… Right now I want another glass of punch to forget that exchange and _dually_ congratulate myself for not pouring the glass I had over his head!” Anne shouted in a whisper as she refilled her cup. Phil watched her chug the glass back and go for another refill.

“I might slow down with that if I were you…”  
 Phil began only to be drowned out by Stella.

“He might have been obnoxious but his ideas were right, Anne. There is simply no science to back up what you’re saying! Look at the curious case of Phineas Gage.” Anne scoffed but Stella persisted. “Finally, we are starting to document and study these phenomena that tell us definitively that personality, emotions- all of that is brain chemistry!”

Anne took a deep breath, swallowed more of the punch before wiping her mouth to begin her retort. Phil was trying to tell her something about the punch or something but she wasn’t listening.

“First of all, listen to your own statement. We are only _starting_ to document these things. The more we learn the more we realize how much we don’t know. Science is showing us that there is a larger role in brain chemistry than we previously knew but that doesn’t negate that certain things exist beyond the physical realm. _Our own consciousness,_ ” she laughed, “is proof. There is a spiritual realm all around us! Our ability to experience and imagine and _feel_ is something altogether bigger than the little box inside our skulls can explain.”

“Anne, why don’t you say hello to G-“ Phil tried, but her words ran together with Stella’s.

“Anne, nothing you have said negates my point. Sentiment, sensation, all that you’re describing is very easily the product of the biology. Matter. Physical things we can measure. And we’re just now developing the tools to understand it. For godsake, even Descartes believed that the dualism of mind and body was contained in the pineal gland of the brain.” The only way Anne could hold her tongue during Stella’s tirade was to keep sipping on her drink, which did taste a bit off. More bitter, perhaps? Maybe that’s what Phil was going on about. Shaking her foggy head she replied,

“I never said I agreed with everything Descartes ever said. The pineal gland thing is nonsense. However! I just cannot find it in myself to _believe,”_ she paused dramatically, shaking her fist, “that the vast complexity of _us_ \- Our _wants_ and our _hurts_ \- can be contained by our biologies. I accept the seemingly symbiotic relationship between them, and _no_ I don’t claim to theorize how the soul is created but- but! I maintain, proof or no proof, that the soul _exists_. Let me finish! If it exists, and it must, it is only tethered to the body in ways we have yet to understand. Some things, like God, are pure mind and other things, like this punch, are pure matter. Yes! There is no getting around it, Stella! Just as a body can sometimes go on living in a vegetative state, with no _life_ inside after an accident, so too may our _souls_ be able to exist free of the body. The afterlife. Maybe in time we will have discovered how to _leave_ our bodies at will. Slip out of them and into the physical world around us. Maybe we will even be able slip into other bodies and see what they feel like,” Anne finished, sipping the delicious punch. It was quiet for a moment and she grinned into the lip of her cup, feeling as though she had won the debate.

“Gilbert, what do you think?” Phil asked and Anne almost spit out her punch. Just behind her shoulder Gilbert was standing with a very amused expression on his face.

“Ah, well. Mind-body dualism? I think,” he looked down at Anne and tried to smother the large grin that threatened to take over. He watched her as he answered, only briefly flitting his eyes to Phil and Stella when he completed his thought. “That there may be some things that the human mind is incapable of knowing. The workings of the human brain, though still yet to be fully understood by modern medicine, is a tangible and measurable thing. We can know it objectively. But our own thoughts, feelings, and perspectives are so subjective that we can’t really make sense of how it works, let alone how they work together. So… I guess you could say I think the answer is unknowable.”

Stella booed, accusing him of indecisiveness but Anne nodded and sipped her beverage, wondering if Gilbert had caught the end of her dialogue and what he construed of her fantasies of ‘slipping into others bodies’.

“Very diplomatic, Gilbert!” Phil praised him, placing her hand briefly on his shoulder as Anne watched intently. “Is Emily Dunn here?”

“Who?” Gilbert asked, noticing the way Anne’s eyes had narrowed as they followed Phil’s hand to his shoulder.

“Emily Dunn. Youthfully pretty, blonde, great figure. I saw you walking with her the other day. Didn’t you bring her? Philosophy doesn’t seem much her kind of thing, but you might know her better than I do.” Gilbert laughed.

“I doubt that. I didn’t even know her last name. We’re in the same class and we were just walking the same way for awhile.”

“Oh! So you’re free for a dance, then?” Phil inquired.

“Not a lot of dancing goes on at these things, Phil. I tried to tell you,” Stella explained.

“Well, now it does. Come on!” With that Phil grabbed Gilbert’s hand and dragged him to the center of the room. She shouted at the person managing the victrola to put on something gay and led the first dance. Gilbert looked more amused than embarrassed as the two of them started off, encouraging other couples to join in. Soon five more couples joined in, increasing the liveliness of the scene and transforming it into a real party. Phil seemed to have that power and with the football captain at her side, they made quite the pair. As Stella leaned towards Anne to ask her if they should go find where Pris had wandered off to, the redhead started to feel out of sorts.

“You go ahead. I think I want to sit outside for a minute.” She batted away Stella’s concern about the cold temperature outside, saying how over warm she felt. Soon she was outside the hall in a little patio area, watching everyone inside through the glass doors. What had come over her? She felt hot and groggy where a few minutes ago she had felt fearless and relaxed. As she buried her head in her hands she heard the door open and close. Had someone come out to check on her. Before she could raise her head she heard a voice coming from beside her on the stone bench. It nearly made her leap up!

“I saw you out here and it looked like you needed a little help.” The voice came from a rather unfortunate looking young man in her class. Steven was it? Steven something. Or Something Stevens. He was stocky with an already receding hairline that he tried to cover by brushing his hair forward. He always seemed clammy and his hair lip always disconcerted Anne. She had no ill-will against the young man, but he wasn’t the easiest to look at. She would never call him ugly out loud! But the truth was, he was simply… off putting. He was extending to her a glass of punch. She looked between the glass in his proffered hand and his face before accepting it.

“Thank you. I’m Anne. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I’m so sorry but I don’t remember yours.”

“David Stephenson,” he extended his hand to shake and she smiled, accepting it. “We have English Literature together. I really like some of the things you’ve said in class.”

Anne sipped the punch, which was becoming too sickly sweet by her fifth glass to be appealing anymore. “I can’t even recall anything I’ve said in class. I’m sorry,” she laughed.

“Just the way you talk, really. You managed to make Chaucer interesting with… your words. You’re very poetic.” For all his unfortunate body odor, he did seem very nice. Anne looked up briefly at his face and noted how red it looked. Some of it was acne and the rest seemed to be some sort of inflammation brought on by shaving.

“Well, I would argue that Chaucer is already interesting,” she mumbled. What was wrong with her speech? Why was she slurring? He seemed to notice her discomfort.

“Well, clearly this party isn’t. They rarely are. If you’re tired of it, I can walk you home. Do you want to finish your drink first or-“

A deep, resonate voice interrupted David before Anne could even process what he had been talking about.

“She’s fine.” There was an iciness to the otherwise familiar voice. The cold steel in it made her shiver. “I’ve got her coat here and her roommates are looking for her. You can go now.” Blunt. She looked up and saw Gilbert standing there looking the image of barely restrained violence. He was indeed holding her coat and his eyes were locked on David with a snarl. David scoffed and rubbed the back of his neck as he rose from the bench. He muttered something Anne couldn’t catch and left to go inside.

“Nice talking to you,” Anne called out, propping her chin up in her right hand where it balanced precariously on her elbow in her lap. Gilbert approached her with her coat, a phantom in the darkness of night. Her eyes widened as she took in his clenching jaw and the flash in his eyes.

“Everything all-right?” her voice came in a slight slur. He helped her slip her coat on wordlessly before sitting down next to her and tossing the contents of her punch on the ground. “Hey!” was all she could manage to say at his odd behavior. Suddenly her chin was in his hand and he had pulled her face closer to his as his eyes swept over her. He still looked angry and it frightened her, but she could also discern another emotion there that made her feel helpless and guilty. It was concern.

“Anne, I think you should skip the punch bowl from now on at these kinds of parties. To be safe.”

“Wha…” realization dawned on her. She was tipsy. It made perfect sense.

“Apparently it’s common for fellows to spike it. Someone put rum in this one and I think you’re suffering the result,” his jaw was still clenched and she blinked slowly, seriously considering reaching out and kissing him there.

“Oh, _no._ Not _again,”_ she buried her flushing face in her hands and wiped it hard, hoping the rough touch would give her a piece of sobriety back.

“Again?” He questioned, sounding worried.

“This is the second time I’ve accidently been drunk. What would Marilla say? I’ll never be allowed to see Diana again,” she groaned. From the sound of his voice, that seemed to amuse Gilbert if only a little.

“Well, I won’t tell a soul. But I think you should probably head home before-… And drink a lot of water.” He was very close now, and he was drinking her in as though he were trying to diagnose her by sight alone.

“Where are Stell- _a_ and Prissy?” she slurred. He had mentioned that they were looking for her.

“They’re inside. Phil went to tell them about the punch. I can go tell ask them if they’re ready to leave.”

“But you said they were looking for me?” her speech was coming slow and a bit louder than usual. The small part of Gilbert that wasn’t upset found it both adorable and intriguing.

“Well, not exactly. I just said that to get rid of _whoever that was,”_ he turned his head as though he were daring David to come back.

“Why?” Anne was well past confused and Gilbert seemed uncomfortable.

“Anne… men who spike punch at parties do it so that they can…  They’re intentions are to get a girl drunk so they can get her alone.” Was she really going to make him say more? When Gilbert had been dancing with Phil she seemed to notice how he kept glancing around for Anne. She giggled and told him that Anne had been sampling the punch and that she saw her go outside to get her bearings. He had barely been able to fulfill the demands of propriety by finishing the dance before fetching her coat and things and coming to find her. As soon as he saw that predator sitting with Anne, offering her more to drink it had taken all of his self control not to tear him apart on sight.

Anne was quiet for a moment and her face slowly scrunched up into disgust and panic.

“Gilbert, I want to go home. I don’t want to go back in there. People will- I- Will you walk me back?” she asked. He wanted to reach out and hold her close, make her feel safe in this vulnerable moment, but then she would just be left of more hazy memories tomorrow of men trying to paw at her while she was indisposed.

“I’ll tell one of the girls I’m taking you back. Stay here.” He hovered at the veranda door, uncertain about leaving her alone for even a moment. “I’ll be right back. If anyone- I’ll be _right back._ I promise.” And he kept his word. Anne stood to put on her gloves, scarf, and hat. Before she was finished buttoning up her coat Gilbert was back at her side, looking around their vicinity as though he were afraid that in his brief absence more danger could have come to her. They began to walk back to her boarding house, passing the occasional pedestrian along the way. It wasn’t that late and there were plenty of people around, enjoying their evening. As they walked in silence, Gilbert kept his peripheral vision on his companion, gauging her level of inebriation.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Gil!” she finally announced, bumping his shoulder playfully. “I’m really only a little tipsy. I’m not going to roll over into the ditch and vomit!”

“Well, I don’t know what to expect!” he defended, snickering. “I haven’t seen you drink before! But if you know how to pace yourself,” he put his hands up in surrender, “You’re the lush!” Anne gasped and swatted at his arm, making him scrunch up and cower comically.

“Gilbert Blythe! How dare you! I am a woman of temperance!” she straightened her spine and tipped her nose to the air as she continued walking, not allowing him to keep playing the abused victim. He burst out laughing.

“Not right now, you’re not. Who knew Anne Shirley was an old sot! Do you carry a hipflask on you and all?” She swatted at him again, hitting his chest softly and he grabbed her hand in both of his.

“Gil! Stop it!” seeing that he had better not rile her up in the state she was in right here on a public street, he put a clamp on his sense of mischief.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I apologize. You are the picture of sobriety. I won’t tell a soul… But you did say this is the second time this has happened,” he edged, hoping she would be in a mood for spilling secrets.

“That was… years ago. Another accident. Marilla didn’t label the bottles and… raspberry cordial. Diana was supposed to have tea and I was getting it. And Marilla doesn’t keep wine in the house, I feel compelled to dispel. Com _pelled_ to dis _pel,”_ she repeated under her breath. “It was leftover. It looked like raspberry… Red drinks are twice as good as any other color, don’t you think?” He merely nodded, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I’m not one to judge. Bash had a time with me when I had my first drink. I barely made it outside before vomiting,” he confessed to alleviate her own embarrassment. It worked. Her hysterical laughter had him blushing, pleased to have amused her. It seemed to him that he’d be willing to make any kind of fool of himself if he could only make her laugh like that. Steadying herself with a hand on his arm she struggled to breathe.

“I can just see you now-“ and peals of laughter had her doubling over again. Before he had time to steady her she was on her feet again. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a drunk, Gil. I don’t like it. I like to feel in _control_ ,” she told him.

“I know what you mean. I’m sure a drink or two is harmless enough if the occasion is right but I tend to agree with you.”

“I _do_ feel merry, though!” she announced and he had to bite his lip to stop from laughing at her.

“Good! It’s good to feel merry,” He felt he should keep the conversation going, wanting to hear what else came out of her mouth.

“And I feel freer. From fear. I can’t believe the things I usually worry about just now!” and she did sound incredulous with herself.

“Like what, Anne-Girl?” he smirked.

“Oh, all my feelings! All the feelings I’m afraid of.”

Oh dear. This was getting serious.

“What feelings are you afraid of, Anne?” he asked more poignantly, smirk fading.

“I’m afraid of feeling… like a failure. As a student, as a writer, as a… daughter. A person. I get _so afraid_ of those things. And of losing what I _do_ have. Matthew’s and Marilla’s health failing. They’re getting older, Gil,” she was getting sad now. Steering the mood of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert while inebriated was like sailing a boat. It was working! But as soon as you tilt into one wind you have to be careful that you don’t go too far in that direction, and must steer quickly in another way to avoid it. He was interested in getting the hang of it.

“Yes, but they have many years in them yet. I’m still astonished that the ferocious Anne Shirley has any fears at all! You’re always so formidable,” he steered.

“ _Ferocious!?_ Gilbert, you make me sound like a wild animal!” and the look on her face was so close to that of an angry beastie that he couldn’t help but double over in laughter. She huffed and stamped her foot before rushing him, pushing him with open palms. She had quite enough force to knock him over had he not been prepared for her. He stopped her by grabbing her shoulders and stood, pushing her backwards as she struggled to knock into him, shaking with laughter.

“An- A- Anne,” he wheezed in hysterics. “As much- As much as I love your bull impression-,“ he giggled, “You’re going to make a scene-! And I won’t be able to keep your secret about all the liquor you’ve had,” he stood, catching his breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. She was still pulling that adorable little grimace with her mouth drawn together and he wished he could capture it in a photograph.

“Gilbert Blythe, you deliberately provoked me.” She crossed her arms and began walking with him again.

“I apologize. It wasn’t deliberate. You- You should just see yourself.”

“I can’t be any worse than that time with Diana. At least I’m wearing my clothes the right way out,” she grumbled.

“What do you mean?” This was all so delightfully easy.

“When we were drunk. That time with the currant wine. We polished off the bottle,” she bragged. This had him laughing again, but he pressed on.

“What were you saying about your clothes?”

“Huh? Oh. Well, nothing. We were just putting on costumes and things. I got into Marilla’s wardrobe and put her corset on over my dress and we rolled around on the bed together,” she finished lamely. She was unaware that her last sentence had been misconstrued by Gilbert until he sputtered and started coughing.

“You and Diana? What did you… do?” His mind began racing with a lot of images as he waited for her to expound.

“Well, we were just singing and dancing. Giggling. A few degrees worse than I am right now,” she sighed. He was quiet for a beat, his voice finally returning with seeming ruefulness.  

“Well, at least in Avonlea there aren’t any scoundrels around to take advantage,” he felt it important to impress upon her the danger she could find herself in if she weren’t more cautious in the future. He didn’t like it. He felt it wasn’t exactly his place. If only she’d let him court her officially then he would be free to protect her in a way that wouldn’t make him feel so audacious. How did he protect her from a distance? Just explaining these things felt like he was walking a line that she might find presumptuous.

“The scoundrels _there_ take advantage of you even when you’re stone sober, with their own mother in the house,” she lamented, looking at the pavement. Gilbert had stopped walking.

“What?”

“What?” she looked at his frozen face of panic and had to recall what she had just said. Oh. _That_.

“In Avonlea someone… tried to take advantage of you? Who was it? What happened?” That clenched jaw again. He looked angry. Why did he look so alluring when he was angry? She shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter. Jane came back in before… anything could happen.” She shuddered at the memory, grimacing. Gilbert was suddenly inches away from her, his hand on her arm.

“Anne, you have to tell me. Was it Billy? What did he do?” She had mentioned Jane. And ‘in his mother’s own house’. It sounded like she was talking about Billy Andrews.

“I told you. Jane came back in before anything could happen. It’s over. It doesn’t matter-“

“It does matter. What did Jane interrupt?” He sounded as serious as death. It intimidated her and she felt stunned. She looked around herself, dazed, avoiding Gilbert’s eye for a reason she didn’t fully understand. His gaze was too loaded. It was all too much.

“He, he grabbed me,” she mimed the action. “First like this, then the back of my head. I slapped him, but he _liked_ it. He was much stronger than me…” she shook her head. “Then Jane walked in. He let go of me. She didn’t see.” Anne turned around to begin walking again but after a couple of paces she realized Gilbert was still standing in place. When she turned and chanced a look at him again she was confounded. If he looked angry before… she was afraid to come any closer to him. There was murder in his eyes. He was looking through her. That pulsing, clenched jaw, flaring nostrils, and eyes that could probably kill. She stood away from him.

“Gilbert?” she asked in a small, frightened voice. He seemed to snap out of his trance but only just.

“When did this happen? Is that the only time?” She shook her head. How many times had she been unfortunate enough to be alone with Billy for any amount of time over the years? Just fleeting moments here and there. In the past year his smirks had gained a darker sort of tone in the eyes. She had only had the chance to see it a few times before that day in Jane’s room. But there were always people close by and she could get away from his oppressive bearing before it suffocated her.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, confused and overwhelmed. “I don’t know, Gilbert. He’s always been awful. I can’t remember right now-“ she brought her hand to her head and Gilbert was beside her again in a flash, rubbing small circles on her back.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright. I do think you should have told someone, Anne. Right away.” He felt lost at that moment, drunk on rage towards someone hundreds of miles away, and the bifurcating need to stay close to this woman, to comfort and protect her. Anne found herself drawn in by the way he was rubbing her back and she inched closer to him until she was tucked under his arm. As soon as her body knocked into his he slowly slid his hand up and down her back in a mix of comfort and affection and to his surprise Anne leaned her forehead into his collar.

“I know you mean well, Gil. But… The Andrews family? Not even Jane would take my side. You have to understand… Anything I say or do… It would be counted against _me_ not him. It’s best to try and avoid… I can’t deal with… Can you see Marilla or Matthew having words with Mr. and Mrs. Andrews? You have to see that it would be more trouble. Let’s just forget it, shall we?”

He processed her words and took a deep, haggard breath. He knew what she was trying to explain and her prescience made him angry. She was right. If she had told anyone the chances of rumors spreading about her were greater than the chance that Billy would be taken to task.

“I understand about all that but _you can tell me_. Always.” The way she was leaning into his chest now made his heart pound and not of his own volition his hand slid gently up to the nape of her neck where his thumb stroked her skin, catching just a brush of the hair there. “Tell me, Anne. I can handle it discreetly.”

“No,” she mumbled into his shirt, nodding her head in protest.

“Yes. You are _not_ going it alone. Not when it comes to this. Can you trust me?” He whispered tenderly, his other hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

Anne could feel herself melting into him. Before she could do something stupid, like wrap her arms around his waist underneath his coat, she looked up at his face and was startled to see how close it was. Slowly, her furrowed brow smoothed under the kindness of his still very controlled expression and she felt hypnotized. Her blue eyes softened from the softness in his hazel ones and she reached up to touch that distracting clench in his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch of her gloved hand.

“Okay,” she whispered. They were so close now. She would barely have to reach at all to kiss him. He was _impossibly_ handsome and his hands were on her, his voice so sweet and strong. She could feel his breath on her face, could see his adam’s apple bob. His eyes opened and he inhaled sharply at the sight of her licking her lips, staring at his own. Before she could close the gap between them he took a step back and took her hand away from his face, holding it in his own.

“Let’s get you home, Your Highness.”

He dropped her hand as they continued to walk and Anne felt exposed and embarrassed. He had known she was going to kiss him. It was obvious. And he stopped her. She really _was_ drunk. Her inner monologue was one long, screeching groan of humiliation as they made it back to the door of her boarding house. On the stoop he left her, making her promise to drink plenty of water before she laid down, and to keep a basin nearby in case she needed to be sick. The mortification wasn’t dampening. He seemed to linger, to her dismay, and before she knew what was happening he placed a quick, chaste kiss to her forehead. As she looked up at him in surprise he took her gloved hand in his own for one last squeeze.

“Take care of yourself, Anne-Girl. Please.” And he was off into the night.


	16. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ain't giving up! Not today! Work was in the way, work may get in the way again but I am here and the clarity for the next few chapters is really coming together and I am excited to write it. I love love, it keeps me committed to the story. Keep it coming to my needy heart. Hope this chapter of vignettes of flashbacks interposed with current time was easy enough to understand. Italics are flashbacks. Non-italics is current day. I hope you can tell that Gil is building to something. Sorry if I failed at that, this was harder to write than I thought. I have been actively working on it all this time. It's a miracle Gil's waited this long!

As her first semester as a college student came to a close Anne found herself disappointing more than one of her friends. Her constant studying for finals seemed to be taken by Phil as a personal affront. It felt to the redhead that any balance of social life with academic could never please her future housemate. All was rectified one evening before their final Latin exam when Phil’s demand for Anne’s company reduced the redhead to tears, which had led to Phil crying. It had all been such a scene with each telling the other how beautiful she was, how admired until they were laughing about their first silly quarrel.

The second friend Anne seemed to have disappointed was Gilbert. After the night he walked her home from the Philosophy mixer he had been different. _Bolder._ The day after the party he had come by to check on her. As they walked in the garden Gilbert had been so _attentive_. He’d always had a habit of standing a little too close to her and staring at her but this time he spoke in low, hushed tones and he even tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. This new behavior from him disconcerted her greatly but it wasn’t difficult to deduce what prompted it. She had almost kissed him the night before! _Drunkenly!_ And he had rejected her! All before kissing her on the forehead and coming to visit her the next day.

Anne was terrified. What did all of this mean? How could she make Gilbert stop this without hurting his feelings? She had grown to depend on him so much during their time away from Avonlea. She needed him as much as she needed Diana- And Diana wasn’t here. Gilbert was. Oh, why couldn’t he be sensible? But of course she knew why. Hadn’t she herself given him every reason to hope the night previous when she leaned in to kiss him? What had she begun? She had made him promise to forget their previous intimacy and here she was throwing herself at him again. No wonder he thought that they… This was a crisis. She couldn’t be with Gilbert. It was absurd. She had picked him _because_ there was no threat of falling in love with him. She needed to make that clear to him and the sooner the better.  

And yet it was with a twisting thorn in her heart that she rebuffed his reaches for her hand in the days that followed and put distance between them as soon as he came close to her.  Oh, why did it hurt so much to see the look of disappointment on his face when she wrenched her shoulder away from his touch? Would she forever be tormented by the memory of the smile in his hazel eyes turning to confusion and pain? He seemed to get the message. Gilbert stopped saying sentimental things to her from then on, and stopped his oppressive hovering.

Christmas in Avonlea was a veritable homecoming of dreams. It was difficult not to indulge in the sadness for the first harvest there that she had missed. The days and evenings that had not been spent with the Cuthberts these past few months called out to her heart with a small voice of guilty abandonment. They needed her. Had she forgotten that day she first came to Green Gables as a lost, starved foundling and finally, finally discovered the first loves of her life? They were quiet and patient and strong, eternally keeping watch here at the lighthouse of her world, never leaving or changing. She had left them. And she was changing from that little girl they had not so long ago enveloped into their home.

It was a confusing feeling of bitter nostalgia and joy to meet Matthew and Jerry in the barn with hot cider and break with them, their laughter creating clouds of breath in the December air. Anne ignored the way Matthew seemed to take longer to stand up, and how much greyer he’d become. Marilla seemed little changed, but the thought of how much work around the house she’d done alone in Anne’s absence twisted that pesky thorn in her heart. That pain began to dissipate one evening as she and Marilla worked on dinner.

“Maybe after this coming semester I should take a break. My place is here with you and Matthew. I’ve missed so much time with you already-“

“Now, I won’t hear any more of this. I mean it, Anne. Matthew and I have already got our heart set on having a B.A. in the family.”

“But I could be of so much more help to you here-“

“You’re far too bright to give up on your dreams-“

“You and Matthew _are_ my dream. All I ever wanted was someone to love me-“

“Anne. Listen to me,” the older woman wiped flour dusted hands on her apron and turned the auburn beauty to face her. “You’re not an investment into our retirement. It’s because Matthew and I love you so much… Love should never become an obligation. I want more for you than I had for myself, Anne. You can’t know how proud we are of you.”

The holiday passed with cheer and revelry. Anne had needlessly worried about passing all of her final exams. When her first semester at Redmond had ended she took the honor of leading her class in English and attained high ranks in her other classes. Meanwhile, Diana’s wedding planning balanced with all of her curiosity about college life in the conversations between the two bosom friends. The distance there seemed less than she remembered and she was relieved to find in Diana the same old port in a storm that had always been in her sympathetic smiles.  Even Ruby’s health seemed to have improved. The blonde belle had knitted Anne a dark green winter hat and scarf. The Cuthberts had gotten her some warm things for winter as well, and Diana had bought her pearl droplet earrings. Her gift exchange with Gilbert went painlessly at his home one evening after they had dined with the Lacroixs.

“I was reading it in preparation for Geometry this semester. Imagining all the shapes as characters with personalities and their own rigid little worlds makes things like dimensions so much more fantastical, I think. It’s a queer little tale but I thought it might be as amusing to you as it was to me,” Anne smiled. Gilbert turned the novella over in his hands. _Flatland_ by Edwin A. Abbott.

“I can’t wait to read it!” He became nervous about his own gift. She had given him something personal and meaningful and he had only gotten her…

“Oh! The pages are- A journal!” she awed over the ornate leatherbound book with gold leaf pages. At the bottom of every page was a delicate line that swirled at the edges. The first page had an inscription.

_To Anne,_

_With the hope that you may fill this book with your stories._

_Gilbert_

“You can use it for whatever you want, of course. I just thought since you’re such a great writer you needed something nice to write your stories and ideas down in,” he rambled, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

“I love it!” she said in reverence, running her fingers down the smooth gold edge of the pages. She wanted to chastise him for the expense of such an ornate journal but she didn’t want to embarrass him.

 

* * *

 

 

_Gilbert smiled down at the large A+ written at the top of his composition as Ms. Stacy placed it in front of him. Behind him Moody groaned at the revelation of his own grade as their teacher made her rounds with the stack of papers. Though English wasn’t a subject he necessarily needed to excel in to get into medical school, Gilbert did appreciate language and had a great enjoyment of well-written prose and was thus gratified to be graded so high on his composition on Life in Avonlea. He chanced a look across the aisle at a copper haired siren, hoping to see her look of delight when she got her own grade. Surprisingly, her expression of anticipation morphed into horror when Ms. Stacy placed her grade in front of her. Diana reached over to clasp her hand but Anne was unresponsive. She took two haggard breaths in the time their teacher whispered ‘See me after class,’ before moving on to the next table._

_What grade had she received? What had she done wrong in Ms. Stacy’s estimation? How bad could it be? It was a shock to him that she wouldn’t get the highest mark in the class on a writing assignment. She must be crushed. How could he get her to talk to him about it? As he suspected, he wouldn’t get it out of her any time soon. Their friendship had steadily grown since his return to Avonlea the previous Christmas. She had finally begun holding conversations with him when he caught her out of school. Getting any closer had been slow work. Offering to walk her home from school, especially since she always walked with Diana, could be misconstrued as an attempt at romantic overtures. He couldn’t risk it. Lunch hour was still unfairly segregated by gender and he had no opportunity there, either. She seemed dejected and disinterested in her studies for the rest of the week and he was concerned. She couldn’t just give up! When Ms. Stacy asked her to stay again after school Friday to discuss her rewrite he knew he couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay any longer. He pretended to linger outside the schoolhouse for an opportunity to discuss his studies with their instructor, biding his time until Anne came out._

_He had to think quickly on his feet when the two ladies exited the schoolhouse together, leaving them the only three people in the vicinity. They were both surprised to see him there and he tripped over an excuse for his presence._

_“I’d like you to seriously consider it, Anne. You are more gifted than you realize and although unconventional, I think the piece is a staggering reinvention of narrative form- Gilbert! What are you still doing here?”_

_He tried to keep his eyes on the older of the two ladies, avoiding the way Anne’s inquisitive gaze left him feeling so exposed._

_“Oh, I was just going to ask you.. if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, to look over my extracurricular vocational work. I haven’t exactly been keeping up the same pace as before but… I still keep notes and… It’s really not that important. It’s Friday. You should be enjoying your weekend,” he finished lamely._

_“Nonsense, I’d love to help,” Muriel smiled warmly. “Did you have a specific question? Or any completed work to go over?”_

_“Um, well, no. I guess I’m not as prepared as I thought. Sorry to bother you, Ms. Stacy.” The schoolmarm gave him a quixotic look and cast her eyes to Anne._

_“Oh. Well, Monday then? Have a pleasant weekend, you two,” she smiled knowingly as she perched onto her motorbike. The two classmates waved at her departing figure before Anne turned awkwardly to Gilbert._

_“So… have you changed your mind about advancing your studies?”_

_“Huh? Oh, no. I’m just, you know, trying to stay ahead. It sounds like_ your _studies are getting pretty advanced. What happened with your composition?” he asked as they began walking towards the path. She sighed and tucked her chin._

_“I’m too embarrassed to say,” she answered, chewing on her bottom lip._

_“There’s no reason to be. I’d be curious to know what you wrote,” after a long pause he added, “I’ll show you mine if you- let me read yours,” he offered with his most charming smile and a nervous laugh. She looked up at him with such worry._

_“It was terrible. Ms. Stacy tore it to shreds,” she released in one long breath. “I couldn’t let anyone read it.”_

_“I’m sure that’s not true. She sounded impressed just now.”_

_“She was talking about my second effort,” Anne explained. He casually offered to walk her home if she would tell him the whole story and she unburdened herself to him. Ms. Stacy had kept her after class Monday to discuss her C. According to her mentor, had the composition been turned in by any of her other students it would have warranted an A+ but Ms. Stacy had felt that Anne could do better. She had praised her grasp of language but felt her long winded descriptions of pastoral landscapes were lacking substance._

_As Anne bemoaned the rejection of her long, flowery descriptions of Avonlea’s natural beauty, Gilbert quietly objected to each use of the words ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘foolish’._

_“…I confess I didn’t pour my heart and soul into the rewrite. I was already so dejected and I couldn’t imagine how to top what I had already felt was a small masterpiece. I had this notion to rewrite my feelings about all the natural splendor of my home in a different sort of style than before. It was the ‘flowery use of language’ she objected to so I had it in my head that I wouldn’t elucidate so much the second time around and use the shortest sentences possible. Oh, I still used words like ‘resplendent’ and ‘ubiquitous’ but this time around I was almost writing out of spite. Don’t misunderstand me,” she quickly turned to him in wide eyed panic, “I adore Ms. Stacy and I took the assignment seriously. And in the end it was just as much effort as the first draft! But this time I wrote… experimentally. Gilbert, I wrote an_ entire _three page composition in just sentence fragments!”_

_“Sentence fragments? I don’t understand. She sounded so impressed.”_

_“That’s what’s so perplexing about the whole thing. Ms. Stacy loved it! She said it was an avant-garde innovation of narrative style. That it thrust the reader into a new vantage point,” Anne said as though she were still in disbelief about the whole thing. “She wants to send it off to a magazine to see if they’ll publish it.”_

_“Anne, that’s incredible! I don’t even know what to say. Congratulations! Could I read it?” She snapped her head over to him._

_“Gilbert, I don’t know… It’s… weird.” His smile was pleading and swoon-worthy and Anne’s ears were turning red._

_“So let me get this straight. You wrote a weird composition that broke all the rules of literature out of spite, Ms. Stacy loved it and thinks it’s good enough to be published, and you’re disappointed because you hate it? Because you wanted your original idea to be the one that was considered brilliant and publishable?”_

_“You_ do _understand!” Her smile was so unfetteredly earnest it took him aback. “I know it wasn’t good enough to be published. And deep down I do understand her criticisms of my first draft… but I put my whole heart into that composition. It was truer to my spirit than the new one. Well, in a_ fashion _it was. The new one is my own voice as well but it’s not_ lucid. _Ms. Stacy called it ‘stream of consciousness’. I can’t take it seriously. I simply wrote out my thoughts as I was thinking them. You know how your brain can have several thoughts clamoring together at the same time, how some begin before others are finished? I wrote like that. Just scraps of thoughts as they came into my head. All about the majesty of Avonlea, of course. Ms. Stacy said it seemed truer to my voice than the first one and was infinitely more compelling to read. I just don’t know what to think. It all makes me feel as though I don’t really know myself,” she finished._

_The majesty of Avonlea. Her sense of wonder was beautiful. All of her thoughts jumbled on a page in a ‘stream’. It sounded fascinating. If he read it would he know what it was like inside her mind? He wanted to read the strange paper now more than ever._

_“Could I read it? Please? I could read it and give you my honest opinion. I promise I would be fair but not harsh,” he swore. Anne sighed and looked up at him, abashed._

_“Alright. But be warned: I am sure it’s not very good, despite what Ms. Stacy says. Remember that it’s_ not _indicative of my usual writing style so you can_ not _judge me by it. And don’t show it to anyone- or mention it to anyone. Or make fun of it. Oh, you can laugh all you want as you’re reading it, but not while you’re giving me your opinion.”_

_She held out her white, delicate pinky finger and it took him a moment to understand that he was to offer up his own. She locked them together for a pinky promise and he smiled, jubilant at this turn of events. Later when he read her composition he would be as confused as he would be amazed. Though difficult to read at first, Gilbert found himself savoring every word of the work. It was Anne’s inner monologue. All of her thoughts and feelings in a barely comprehensible whirlwind. Was this how she thought and felt? Her observations about the perfumed fields of flowers, the varying personalities of trees, the music of the brooks and the sea in the distance were, well, poetic. But seeing her thoughts as they manifested and turned and evolved inside her mind, before she organized them into speech in all her cleverness with language, was thrilling. How did he describe how it felt to seemingly_ peer into _Anne’s mind? The mind he had spent years trying to understand better? Not only did it feel intimate, but a soaring part of Gilbert’s spirit could identify what he had long suspected: That the incredible workings of Anne’s perplexing brain read very logically to him. He felt while reading her musical thoughts that they would evaporate like a mist, disappearing. The silences only really a white noise of the hum of recollections. New thoughts abruptly crashing in like waves. He found himself syncing up with her, getting his sea legs._

_He was unable to explain all of this when he returned her work, but while he gushed about how he been allowed to witness another human’s inner life on a more visceral level, Anne became timid. At the end of his dissertation he took a deep breath and waited for her reaction._

_“You didn’t think it was weird at all?”_

_“It_ was _weird. But that’s one of the reasons it was so wonderful,” he insisted._

_Meekly she managed a thank you before they settled on the Green Gables porch, discussing the experimental work at length. Ms. Stacy had sent her composition to a few magazines but it was rejected from all of them. She never showed the work to Diana or anyone else._

* * *

 

 

New Years Eve wasn’t a holiday that common farming families traditionally celebrated with parties but if there was to ever be an exception wouldn’t it be now? In a few hours it would be the year 1900. There at the White Sands that night was something of the zeitgeist of the time. All the advancements in technology, the developments in art, the shedding of old ideas, the modern sensibilities of passion and progress were culminating in an especially symbolic new century. There was a unique sense of excitement buzzing in the air. Most of the Avonlea families were there and almost all of the Avonlea youth. Gilbert chatted with Charlie and Moody for a few minutes then made his rounds amongst his male and female acquaintances. He saw Diana Barry and braced himself. Where there was Diana Anne was sure to be.

After giving Anne a wide breadth a few weeks ago, she had finally thawed to his presence just as they were breaking for the holiday. She had tried to kiss him! It was with clenched fists he backed away from her sweet, rum warmed face. The chances of her regretting it the next day were far too high and that might be the worst outcome he could think of. No matter what it would be tainted and Anne wouldn’t respect him. He didn’t mind the pain that came with backing away from her offered lips when he fell asleep that night to the new concrete evidence that she cared for him…

But the next afternoon when he went to see about that kiss in the sobering light of day she had seemed horrified. He tried to belay whatever fears she had with as much tenderness she would let him show her but it was to no avail. A wall had come up. She seemed as though she wanted nothing to do with him at all. In the days that followed he continued to pursue the feelings she had briefly displayed while intoxicated but was met with coldness every time. There was nothing left to do but respect her space. Ever since they had come home for Christmas she had warmed considerably. Maybe it was the effect of Avonlea. It held a special magic and he knew how homesick she had been. Maybe it was the fact that they were away from the city and all of their peers and back in their own, smaller world. Either way, it was a relief when her smile became welcoming again. She had even gotten him a Christmas present! They were back to sharing books.

As nice as all of this was he was getting tired of the back and forth. It had been five months since they’d lain together and she didn’t seem any closer to him than she did then.

Which was another problem: He could never seem to stop thinking about that night. He found himself mentally undressing Anne every time they were together. She could probably tell! That would explain all of her anxiety around him. He had to get a grip. How was he going to get through the next few years if he couldn’t stop imagining himself feasting on the fountain between her legs every time he saw her? Oh, who was he kidding? He thought about her _all_ of the time. Even worse than before. True love and losing one’s virginity was a potent cocktail for going demented. He found himself studying for the classes he’d just passed over Christmas break since only studying seemed to occupy his brain enough to keep her out of it.

This couldn’t go on much longer. There was no disputing that he’d have to declare himself soon, regardless of the signals she was giving him. But he didn’t have to think about that tonight. Tonight he was going to spend the countdown with his friends and _not_ following Anne around, waiting for a chance to talk to her without Diana. He wasn’t going to do that thing he did where he locked on to her location in the room and, without even realizing he was doing it, track her throughout the evening through his peripheral vision. He was here to be sociable so he was going chat with his old buddies. He hadn’t seen a lot of the Avonlea crowd since he had been to school anyway. He should be spending his time at home catching up with them. And if Anne just so happened to join them, well, he wasn’t going to _avoid_ her.

There she was! She came in just behind Diana and linked arms with her. She was wearing a pale pink dress. He had never seen her wear pink before. In fact he had heard her remark on more than one occasion that her red hair prevented her from even dreaming of wearing pink. She looked stunning. It suited her skin so nicely. It made him think about the pinker hues of her complexion. And her pale pink nipples- Stop it! She was wearing a sort of metallic silver hair band in her hair. It was all gathered up, wavy, into a very elegant upsweep. There were even loosely curled tendrils at the base of her neck and framing her face.  It was usually straight. Had she put curlers in her hair? She was wearing a little silver necklace and a pink and white corsage. He would _not_ approach her. Unless they naturally drifted towards each other and ran into one another. Then he would say hello, he wouldn’t ignore her. Oh! She was smiling at him broadly. She was coming over to him!

“Gilbert!” Sometimes she said his name with a sort of sigh. It sounded like music to him.

“Anne!” he grinned.

“The 20th Century!” she cried.

“Yes.”

“What will you make of it?”

“The whole thing?”

“Mmm, yes!”

“Um, well, I think 1999 will be disappointing,” he said matter of factly.

“Why is that?” she smiled.

“Because none of us will be around to see it,” he said as though he was surprised she didn’t already know the answer.

“Ahh, so the world will be over when you’re not here anymore?”

“I just think the world will never be as much fun as when we were all here together,” he gestured around at all of their friends.

“Hmmm. It sounds biased,” she pressed her finger to her lips and he imagined them puckering that way for him, her eyes half closed in desire.

“What’s wrong with that?” His answer made her smile. Later when the countdown began they were still stood talking to each other.

“Come on, don’t you have any dreams for the 20th century?” she pressed.

“For mankind or for myself?”

“Both!”

“Well… For mankind? I hope we progress towards our better selves. That we persevere through the battle against disease and pain and ignorance, which are all members of one another. And add a little to the sum of human knowledge which all good men and women have been accumulating since it began.”

“That’s exactly why you said you wanted to become a doctor,” she remembered, smiling.

“Well, it’s my personal answer, too. For my hopes for the 20th century. I want to do my share of honest, real work in the world.  The folks who lived before me have done so much for me that I want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks who will live after me. It seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get square with his obligations to the race.”

She was looking at him starry eyed and he couldn’t look away. Suddenly they were interrupted by the beginning of the countdown. They joined, calling out the numbers with the crowd. Everyone was pushing closer together in the bustle of it all and they were stood so close together… But she could barely meet his eyes. When she did she smiled nervously but she scanned the room, looking at their neighbors until, finally, the clock struck midnight. Everyone was cheering and the pianist led everyone in a verse of Auld Lang Sine. Some people had been throwing confetti and sequins and they were sprinkled in everyone’s hair. Anne had never looked more radiant. Pink, flushed, and sparkles clinging to her hair. Her _eyes_. Then-

“Happy New Year, Gilbert,” she whispered before slipping away through the crowd of kissing couples and merry makers. In the distance, even through the clamor, he could hear Diana asking ‘Where were you?’ and he didn’t see her again until they were back in Kingsport and the second semester had begun.

 

* * *

 

 

_The church social had been a source of great anxiety for the Blythe-Lacroix household and for good reason. Gilbert had been sadly confronted with a newfound mistrust and disappointment in his neighbors when he introduced Sebastian and Mary to the Avonlea circles. There had been so much staring, whispering, and an overall frigid air when he had brought them to their first official community gathering that he had been eaten up with guilt for leading his friends into a possibly hostile environment. It made him feel like an awful naïf, promising Bash a chance at a life and home here only to lead him and his new wife into a lion’s den. He had discussed it beforehand with Bash, going over how Mr. Lawson had treated him that day in the general store and Bash’s other encounters around town since the Christmas Panto. It had been the couple’s decision to meet the community head on and let the chips fall where they may._

_Now being there by Barry’s pond surrounded by looks of shock and anger, Gilbert felt a sickening disappointment towards the people who populated his home town but even more towards himself. Bash and Mary didn’t deserve this and he was responsible for bringing them there. But didn’t they deserve better than The Bog or the life Bash’s mother still led in Trinidad? Who were these people, who called themselves Christians, to begrudge a kind, generous young couple a chance to live a quiet life of honest, hard work because of the color of their skin? His heart had been racing and he was preparing his carefully crafted words of rebuke when Mrs. Lynde had approached their party with her husband._

_Never before in his life had Gilbert Blythe been so grateful for the idle prattle of Rachel Lynde. She had visited their home from time to time since the wedding, visiting with Mary and filling her in on life in their small town. It appeared she had been laying groundwork with some of the other families to prepare them for meeting the Lacroixs. Soon the Cuthberts had joined the Lyndes in their greeting. Anne dashed over to them from her side at the Barry’s table, her braids whipping behind her. They had grown a bit past her shoulders now, the vivid ochre contrasting starkly against her moon white skin. She was wearing a new dress. A sort of grey-purple. She would know the name of the exact color. Maybe he would ask her later if he could work up the confidence to sound casual. Anne clasped Mary’s hands and kissed her cheek. The murmuring stopped and all eyes in the vicinity were on their party. After an agonizing pause the Minister approached them, then Ms. Stacy, the Kincannons, and more of the town’s senior couples who were friends from Mrs. Lynde’s circle._

_It wasn’t all easy after that. One of the gentlemen asked Bash if it was true that he owned part the Blythe farm and another asked ‘how that was even legal’. Harmon Andrews asked him right in front of Bash whether he felt it was the right thing to do, giving half his farm to ‘a strange colored man’ without asking the townspeople’s permission first. Gilbert was apoplectic. He glanced at Bash, who was clenching his jaw, pretending he hadn’t heard Mr. Andrew’s impertinent address, and opened his mouth to give the man a piece of his mind when Anne spoke first._

_“Perhaps, Mr. Andrews, if the color of a person’s skin is of more concern to you than their character than you might find yourself more comfortable in a farming community located in the American South,” said the redhead archly, crossing her arms._

_“I beg your pardon?” Harmon was temporarily struck dumb by being spoken to thusly by a teenage girl. Several people in the vicinity were listening now._

_“But I’m_ sure _that’s not the case. I’ve always been told that the Andrews family are god-fearing people. Reverend Allen’s last  sermon was on the gifts of Pentecost. The gathering of people from all nations was one of them, wasn’t it Minister? I know that the good people of Avonlea would never treat any honest, hardworking_ image bearer of God _with anything less than dignity and courtesy. It is the second highest commandment Christ gave us after all, to love our_ neighbors _as ourselves,” she finished, chin tilted up proudly, landing her gaze on Mr. Lawson who was at the refreshments table, close enough to hear her speech. She knew he had refused Bash service when he had a fever last winter._

_It was one of those moments that Gilbert knew he was looking at his future wife. The tension that would have made the small crowd very uneasy was relieved when Reverend Allen began reviving the sermon Anne mentioned to anyone who would listen. Then Muriel Stacy asked Mary if she might offer her advice on how to remove ink stains from garments and Rachel Lynde parroted every tip Mary gave her, nodding in approval._

 

* * *

 

At the sound of a pounding hammer Anne came racing into the parlor of Patty’s Place to find Phil hanging pictures.

“What are you doing? We can’t make any holes in the walls!”

“Relax! When we move out I will fix them up and the Spoffards will never notice they were there,” Phil assured her.

“Phil, please. I feel as though I’m responsible for this place and its condition. I don’t want to give them any cause to regret letting the place to us,” Anne implored.

“They won’t. You have my word. But honestly, Anne, we do have a right to make the place _ours_ while we’re staying here.”

 

* * *

 

_The July heat had Gilbert reduced to a plain, sweat soaked blue button up shirt with suspenders. The next two weeks would be a busy time for him and all of his neighbors as they all made hay in a small, two week window of time. Unfortunately, he and Bash were met with a bit of a crisis when the axle on their horse drawn hay mower had broken. After he and Bash spent the better part of the morning trying to repair it themselves Gilbert decided on asking Matthew Cuthbert for his help. Matthew had offered to help him with his farm before, and while the young man had no desire to tax an older gentleman with a heart condition, he knew Matthew to be skilled with mechanical repairs. It would be far better to try and repair it at home first before paying a blacksmith to do it._

_Gilbert was finally through the gate at Green Gables and he could hear sounds in the barn so he approached._

_“Hello? Mr. Cuthbert?” he called up to the open second story of the barn from down below. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing but not that of an older man. It sounded like they were moving hay. Footsteps. Gilbert was not prepared for the sight of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, braids pinned to the top of her head, wearing a hair kerchief, sweat sticking strands of auburn to her pearly neck, wearing brown_ pants _and a shirt much like his own. The pants were a little large on her, with a belt cinching them tight high up around her long, slender waist. She was even wearing work gloves. How arresting._

_“Gilbert!” she seemed just as taken aback to see him. He didn’t know why but he felt compelled to drink in the sight of her drenched in sweat, wearing those clothes._

_“Anne! Hello…” Why couldn’t he stop his eyes from scanning her body up and down? He tilted his head a little away from her, but his eyes never strayed._

_“Matthew and Jerry are in the lower field. What brings you here?”_

_As he explained himself Anne used her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She was so_ cute _. Ugh. He could already tell that this was going to be a ‘thing’ now. He was past the point of lying to himself, he only lied to Bash about it anymore. Gilbert knew himself and his persistent crush well enough now. He could tell when some new little fact or incident regarding Anne would be stuck in his head for days after learning it. How had he gotten like this? How had he gotten to the point that just seeing his dream girl all sweaty wearing men’s clothes perpetually intrigued him? He always marveled at how she could seem so dainty and elegant one minute and then be so strong and daunting the next. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a crush. So what? Everybody had a crush on someone, right? It was perfectly healthy and normal for a special girl to catch your attention and add a little color to life. That didn’t mean your whole life had to shift to make room for it. He had plans that included many years of studying ahead of him, and a future filled with travel and adventure. It was far, far too early to complicate those plans with designs about his love life._

_It was natural to start considering how Anne might,_ hypothetically _, fit into those plans. Would she even be open to travelling instead of settling down right away? She had the Cuthbert’s to think about… And yet, Marilla seemed like she might not want Anne to feel tied down to them… And then there were children. There wasn’t much two people could do once they were married to prevent that. Of course, he could abstain for long periods of time if that’s what it took. Lots of married couples seemed to be able to do that, or else everyone would have as many children as the poor did. Certainly they would be able to practice control as well, if it meant they could be together alone for a few years before they started a family. Just being able to hold each other at night would surely be enough most of the time, and they would just be cautious during the times they were intimate. Between her teacher’s salary and his earnings they might be able to afford a housekeeper by then to look after any children while they continued with their careers and other passions. Anne was sure to have many passions to pursue in the long life ahead of her. He could be the stable one between them so that she could flit from one to another. Maybe they could even raise their little family on the open road. They could provide medicine and education to some of the world’s neediest villages. Their children could grow up speaking several languages, learning about different cultures. When the call came on the breeze they would return to Avonlea for as long as they wanted._

_That’s what one hypothetical life_ could _look like. If he were planning that far ahead. But he wasn’t. And besides, you can’t make a plan_ about _a person, you can only make a plan with a person. And besides! It was just a crush._

 

* * *

 

 

“No offense, Phil, but do you mind if I put a fire on? It’s cold in here!”  spoke yet another handsome, charming admirer from Phil’s roster. His name was Arthur Wilder and he was her guest for the evening. Anne and Pris had needed to be firm about only allowing gentlemen over two evenings a week. They couldn’t stay any later than 8 pm but preferably 7:30 pm. Arthur was a sophomore, athletic, and had a dazzling smile. He had brought his classmate, Dennis, with him.

“I’m afraid not, Art,” replied Phil. “There’s something wrong with the floo. Smoke starts billowing into the room. We’re waiting on a repairman but until then the kitchen stove will have to keep us warm.”

“That’s a scandal, you four having to freeze up here until then. Anyway, Phil, I don’t like the idea of some strange repairman coming out here with you girls all alone. There are four likely enough lads here. We can certainly fix a little ventilation problem for these ladies, can’t we boys?” he gestured to his friend Dennis and to Gilbert Blythe and William Jennings, who were here to socialize with their female Biology 201 counterparts. Ever since the girls had gotten their own place it had become a lot easier to see each other. They were staunch followers of propriety, lest the fact that the four girls had no chaperone living with them become a point of rebuke.

The housemates scurried about to cover the furniture as their gentlemen callers rolled up their sleeves. William complained that he didn’t want to ruin his clothes until Gilbert elbowed him. After about an hour they gave up, covered in soot.

“Sorry about that, Phil. I guess we were just trying to look chivalrous for you,” Arthur apologized sheepishly as Priscilla and Anne led them to the kitchen sink to scrub off what they could.

“You look downright foolish, is what,” Stella spat, wilting the men.

_“Stella!”_ Anne squealed in unison with Pris and Phil.

Gilbert made his way to the sink after the sophomores and dipped his whole head under the spigot, running soap through his hair with both hands before scrubbing his face. When he flipped his curls out of his face, standing straight Anne blushed as she handed him a towel. For a fraction of a second she had wondered how wet she would get if she took him in her arms in that moment. She shook it off and the guests were offered hot cocoa, piles of blankets, and hot brick to share for their laps. Anne had brought out a present she had received at her friend Josephine Barry’s annual winter party. It was a tiny guitar.

“A ukulele. It was given to be by one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She had long, flowing, luminous black hair. It shone like the surface of water. She wore hibiscus and plumeria and all manner of the most _tropical_ flowers in her hair. Her name was Apikalia Kahananui.”

“Say that five times fast,” Arthur joked, getting a chuckle out of most of the people in the room. Anne briefly scowled and Gilbert thought he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“She taught me a few chords but I’ve been playing around to see if I can make up my own,” Anne continued, beginning to strum on the instrument, filling the room with soft, half efforts at music. She found a bit of a rhythm, playing one chord a few times then shifting to a harmonizing one until she almost had a song.

“Are you a songstress now, Anne?” Gilbert asked with a broad smile.

“Ha! It’s just a way to pass the time. A bit like free form writing for getting your thoughts and feelings out. It’s the innate language of our spirits, I think. But I’ll never be a musician.” And she seemed genuinely sad at her conclusion.

Phil and the others continued to chat while Anne plucked away at her new toy, eventually finding the chords to a popular song ‘ _Bird In a Gilded Cage’._ She was teaching herself music right in front of him, still participating in the conversation. Was there anything she couldn’t do? Next time he saw her would she be in a flying machine? What did her singing voice sound like anyway? He hadn’t really heard her in any of the Christmas programs amidst the choir. Her humming voice was pretty and high pitched. She always put him to mind of some little fairy creature. This picture could only be lovelier if their peers were absent, a fire was glowing, and this was his own paid-for house. He caught her eyes. Never stopping in her melody weaving, she smiled at him. She was most beautiful when she was unselfconscious, swept away in whatever magic she was engaged in.

 

* * *

  

_At some point Ms. Stacy had adjusted Anne’s course load so that on Tuesday afternoons she headed next door to assist with the lower students. When his eyes fell on her empty seat he would wonder what she was like with the younger children. Was she intimidated at the prospect of handling a whole classroom on her own? Was she in her element? When they let out on Tuesdays he could sometimes see her walking with a trail of children half her height. She would laugh at their efforts to amuse her, praise them in their childish efforts to impress her, and always attentively listen to their grievances. If any of ever approached her at lunch she would greet them with effusive warmth, sometimes stroke their hair and ask them about what they were studying. It was common knowledge that she had worked looking after children before she came to Avonlea. He thought that with her history and her independent streak, always thwarting traditional gender roles, that there was a chance she might not have much of a maternal disposition._

_He honestly couldn’t have predicted how sweet she could be when she was with children. Standing with Diana and Ruby, brushing back the blonde hair of Ruby’s little sister, Anne looked so womanly. She still looked so young that he could only barely call her a woman but still… He could easily see her with children. She would be like the young mothers he saw in the market, gracefully kneeling down to their child’s eye level to gently guide them away from naughty behavior, drying tears when the occasion warranted it. Neither of them had ever known their mothers. Did she have a mother sized hole in her heart like he did? So far below that she usually forgot that it was even there, crowded by all of the other bereavements? She seemed like she was filled with far too much joy and wonder for that. When he thought of what kind of father he wanted to be, Gilbert largely modeled the image after his own father. Did Anne have a model for herself or did she trust her instincts? She seemed like a natural.  Would becoming a parent fill that hole for her like he thought it might do for him one day?_

_It would be interesting to know what she thought about all of these things. It would be interesting to see what she ended up choosing to do._

* * *

 

“I don’t see why the Gazette isn’t talking more about women’s right to vote. Redmond has admitted women for the past twenty years. Our perspectives should be just as valued on this campus. It seems like they only let the ladies write for the paper if it’s for a blurb about engagements or when the next boating party is going to be.” Anne groaned and paced the auditorium. She had volunteered to assist the corp of students who set up decorations for alumni events. Naturally, being class president, Gilbert was there.

“What do you want them to do, Anne? Let a woman write a regular, serious column?” one of the girls laughed.

“And why not?” she challenged the girls who were laughing.

“Probably because whatever woman took the job would always write about suffrage!” another mocked.

“I just don’t understand any of you. Don’t you want to decide your own fates? Aren’t you bored at the prospect of gaily following the men’s lead on everything? Forever? The board of alumni is made up of men. All the deans we have ever had, all the professors: men. And white men, to top it off. There is no female leadership on this campus. They see our academic performance meets their standards, they stamp their seal on our diplomas, yet we’re still not fit to teach in their halls? By what logic?”

“Maybe we will one day. Redmond has only been co-ed for twenty years. Strong women persevere. We won’t get anywhere if we forget to be ladies,” a chirpy brunette informed her.

“Find out just what any people will submit to and you have the exact measure of the injustice and wrong which will be imposed on them,” Anne wailed in her ‘woe is me’ wail. That quote was from the Fredrick Douglass book he had shared with her.

It must be bizarre to be a woman in the world. Especially one who is awake. Anne was probably the most capable person he had ever met. If she had set her mind on medicine they would be head to head in their studies again. There was nothing that he could imagine her not being able to do. Sure, she could be silly and melodramatic at times, but that was just because she was such a _sensational_ person. Spiritual. In touch. But when a crisis called he had seen her leap into quick action with a stroke of brilliance again and again. Fighting fires, haggling down pawnbrokers, hopping trains… ‘Give’ her the vote? He wanted to vote _for_ her. He wanted to see how _she_ could make things better. He wanted a place on her team.


	17. On the Table, Close to the Vest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. My first real turning point since the inciting incident! Anne is confused, guys. Hope I didn't make her to OOC but I wanted to see he struggle and not be perfectly confident and assured about herself. Because how together can she be if she's rejecting Gilbert, right? Anyway, I pretty much know exactly how the next two to three chapters are going to go so hopefully I can fly through them. Keep me posted if you're still reading. Tell me what you think, fear, hope. I know I haven't been the swiftest updater but I am committed to bringing this story home! I am even imaging some of the things that will come when they're finally together, so I am motivated to get there!

          February in Kingsport wasn’t exactly a winter wonderland but Anne found her walks from Patty’s Place every morning refreshing in the crisp air. Evenings by the fire were especially cozy, too. It seemed to her that the silences in winter were somehow quieter than other seasons. They were on a par with summer evening silences for how much peace they could bring. Winter silences were stark, but refreshing while summer silences were wistful and abundant. It was the various types of contentment the different seasons could bring that Anne was contemplating as she strode towards the general store. It was farther from campus than Patty’s Place and in a different direction.

        Housekeeping as an independent adult for the first time was an utter thrill but the reality of her budget prevented her imagination from running away with her. They could only afford the staples. Keeping a house warm in the winter wasn’t cheap and there were expenses other than food that they had underestimated. On her way to the general store to pick up a spool of thread and some bleach for the laundry Anne noticed she was being followed. It must have been happening since she had left campus because that’s when she had begun to receive the funny looks from people. People were smiling and pointing at her. She had been paranoid. Was her underskirt slipping in the back? Was something stuck to her hat? When she turned around she noticed him. A filthy, weather-beaten,  rust colored cat. A chunk of his ear was missing and he looked as if he’d been beaten up. Still he carried himself with a self assurance that made Anne think he had been the one to turn out on top in the fight.  She thought she’d lose him by the time she got to the store. When she came out with her supplies he was waiting for her. She tried to shoo him away but he would never stray far. Rusty cat followed her home.

        In the end Anne decided it would be cruel not to feed him. Phil expressed concern that the neighbor cats would kill him if he stayed and even suggested euthanizing him, but Anne could not be dissuaded. She had thought him so ugly at first but he was so… _trusting_. Subjecting him to any cruelty was out of the question to her. So Rusty stayed and was thus added to the family at Patty’s Place. At first he seemed to only like Anne. While he liked the other girls well enough to accept food from their hand, it was only his redheaded savior whom he would seek out to curl up with.  Rusty had a bit of a routine. He liked to be let out in the morning when they left for classes and let in after dinner. Sometimes he came back late. While not much of a surprise, it would be this fact that led Anne to some unwelcome revelations about her housemates…

        “ _Ruuuusty,_ ” Anne began to make kissing noises from the door to the back garden to call the little scrap home. It was Friday night and Anne had been up late with her correspondence and eventually her nocturnal poetry writing. “Rusty! This is your last chance! Everyone else is in bed, Rusty!” Anne decided to take a walk through the garden and give him one last chance before he’d be locked out for the night. She didn’t really expect to come across him just sitting still next to one of the bushes but neither had she expected to nearly be knocked over by an unexpected ladder perched against the back of the house. It led to an open window… Stella’s window. The light was on and… someone was climbing out! A man was climbing out of Stella’s window on to the ladder! Anne rushed to knock the ladder away and make the criminal fall to the ground. As soon as she dislodged one of the legs, the ladder swung outwards until it flipped, landing against the side of the house again. The man cried out ‘Stop’ as he flew outwards, gripping to a rung desperately. Stella was at the window.

        “Anne- Stop it, you’ll kill him- Will! Help him!”

        Anne’s eyes widened in shock at the reality before her. It all came to her as fast as a flash of lightning. This was not a prowler. Stella had snuck William Jennings into her bedroom. Anne had discovered him on his way out in the dead of night and attempted to subdue him. Now he could fall and be seriously hurt. The neighbors would be disturbed. All of this would come to light and…

        “Hang on. Hook your leg in. Just swing a little higher and you can get your leg- There. I’ll flip it back, just hang on tight.”

        Before William could make it to the bottom Anne could hear their neighbors from behind and beside them calling out. Lanterns were being brought out. Anne panicked. All of a sudden Stella and Phil were by her side. She heard William smack the ground from a much safer distance. The neighbor’s voices were closer to the fence now.

        “Hello? What’s going on over there?”

        “ _Go!” “Run!” “_ Just _, GO!”_ the girls shouted at William in unison. He scarcely had to be told. Just as they saw the tail end of William turn the corner they were greeted with the disheveled grey head of their next door neighbor peering over the fence.

        It had been just past midnight when Anne had gone looking for Rusty in the garden but it would be well past three AM before the constables left Patty’s Place with a vague description of a man somewhere between the height of 5”9 and 6”2, dark hair, and wearing dark pants and a matching jacket, and between the ages of 18 and 35. The neighbors were in a stir but they bought the story. Some predator had staked out their neighborhood to terrorize the young girls who lived there alone. It was apparent they would be under a microscope from then on.

        “Thank you so much again, Officer Bledsoe,” Phil batted her lashes at the cute, younger constable. “I’ll feel safer in my bed knowing you’ll be keeping an eye on our neighborhood from now on.” The door closed. All three of the young ladies stared at the very quiet Stella Maynard.

        “Can’t we all just go to sleep and talk about this later?” Stella suggested, self consciously holding her arms as Pris stomped to the kitchen to clear away the tea things that had been laid out for the police and three of their next door neighbors. Neighbors who they had to make a lot of assurances to about locking up their ladder, looking harder for a nice maiden aunt to come live with them, not entertaining young men anymore, and so forth.

        “Are you kidding? Do you know what kind of trouble you put us in!?” Anne shouted.

        “Oh, please,” Stella protested loudly.

        “Anne is right, Stella! In this _neighborhood_? It’s already suspicious that we don’t have any sort of chaperone living with us,” Phil began, “And now you were almost caught with a beau crawling out of your two story window onto a ladder after midnight. We all had to lie to law enforcement for you.”

        “I don’t see why we should be made to apologize for how we choose to carry out our personal affairs. What William and I do is no one else’s business but our own,” Stella defended.

        “That’s true, Stella, but… it’s _not._ It affects all of us! There might even be a morality clause about this in our student handbook. Everyone knows we go to Redmond. This is one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the city-“

        “We can’t afford to be tarred with the same brush as you,” Pris interjected with disgust.

        “Hey, now!” Anne tried to guide Pris away from words she couldn’t take back.

        “Let’s just take a step back. She snuck a boy into her room. What’s the big deal? We’ve all done it,” was Phil’s attempt at calming tempers.

        “Excuse me?” “I beg your pardon!”

        “That’s why I wanted the bedroom on the ground floor,” Phil shrugged.

        The room was immensely quiet for a moment.

        “Have both of you been sneaking boys into this house?” Anne finally asked.

        “Only Will.” “Of course!”

        “Unbelievable!”

        “What?! Wait a minute! How… how many boys?” Anne demanded.

        “That’s a bit of a rude question, don’t you think, Anne?” Phil replied.

        “H- How often? Both of you. How often have you snuck men into this house?” Anne was solemn.

        “We just moved in last month. Only twice so far,” Phil admitted.

        “Three or four nights a week,” was Stella’s answer.

        “I can’t believe this! Maybe you’ve already been seen before. Maybe the neighbors were just seeing how far we would go with the lie to the police. They’ll be writing the Dean in the morning, and Patty Spoffard, too,” Anne began to pace.

        “Oh, please. As if you haven’t been sneaking Gilbert Blythe in here-“

        “ _WHAT!?_ ”

        “We need to bring this discussion down a few octaves, please,” Pris was getting fed up with all of them.

        “First of all, I have never, _would_ never- I can’t even- I won’t even dignify that…”

        “Please, Anne, it’s obvious you’ve slept together!” Phil cried. Anne almost choked on outrage.

        “You may think that- that just because I didn’t have any parents for a long time that I am lacking in morals but you would be wrong! That because I’m- because I have a hard time controlling my emotions that I’m weak willed. That I don’t belong in decent society. But you would be _wrong._ I do have morals. I- I don’t know exactly what they are yet. I don’t know a lot of the _details_ yet, that is, but I do have them. I have spent _years_ working on my character, I’ll have you know. So if you think that I would be happy, grateful even to be living in a _brothel_ then, once again, I am sorry to disappoint your expectations of me!” Anne ran to her room and threw herself on her bed, exhausted. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until long after she heard everyone else in the house go back to bed. She heard Rusty scratching and meowing at the back door so she crept downstairs in her slippers to let him in before she slipped back into bed with her fur-ball curled at her feet. She knew she owed the girls an apology in the morning. She had judged them for doing exactly what she had done. Was it them she was angry with or herself? Luckily there were no classes in the morning so she would have the chance to try and patch things up with them.

        “Would you mind all sitting down to breakfast? I’ve used the bacon and I made pancakes with maple syrup… I thought we could all use some fortification while we talk civilly about last night,” Anne began at the head of their small table the next morning. She was dressed with her hair already arranged. Everyone else was in their nightgowns and robes.

        “It’s nearly lunch,” Stella groaned in monotone.

        “Yes, well… sorry about that. First, I would like to apologize to all of you. Especially to you, Stella and Phil. The things I said last night were unconscionable. I had no right to judge either of you that way. It goes against my core beliefs about a woman’s sexual liberty. I betrayed that belief last night out of fear. I’m sorry I failed you as a friend,” Anne lowered her eyes. Phil lept up to embrace her and kiss her cheek repeatedly.

        “No, Darling, we’re sorry. I never, never meant to scandalize you. I can’t imagine how much harder things must have been for you, with your background. You had to claw for every inch you got, didn’t you? And here we are gambling with your reputation along with ours. You see, I’ve never really had to worry about losing my reputation or that of my family. I’ve essentially been able to get away with murder since I was a little girl. I take that for granted. And Stella just doesn’t care. I’m so sorry, Anne-Girl. We talked it over last night after you went to bed. This will never happen again. Even though _I_ never get caught,” she flashed Stella a look, “it doesn’t matter. We never should have placed you and Pris in this situation. And we apologize again to you, Priscilla. No more risky behavior in the house.”

        Phil seemed to understand a bit of how she felt. Stella expressed herself similarly. Anne opened up and shared how many families didn’t want to associate with her at first when she came to Avonlea because she had come from an orphanage. She had always been stained. Ugly, scrawny, strange… add all of that to people’s preconceptions about her being amoral with feral manners. She had worked so hard to dispel those labels but it seemed they might follow her. Many of the students still smirked haughtily when her background was mentioned. She had always taken the most careful pains to be a gentlewoman, someone worthy of Diana’s friendship and the Cuthbert name. Respectability. But she did _not_ tell them how right they had been when they had accused her of… what she had done. She risked all of her work on herself, on her station in life by giving into more dangerous, consequential whims than any she had dreamed up in her childhood.

        That night. Ugh. How humiliating. Mistakes were to be learned from and sponges aside, she was lucky that there hadn’t been an accident. The upsetting part was that this didn’t exactly feel like a mistake. It felt like a revelation. She had done it because she wanted to fit in, because the thought of everyone she knew doing it made her feel left behind and childish. Because she might never get another chance. It was all so stupid. And yet she couldn’t deny that she had these sexual feelings frequently. The romantic side of her nature told her that she had made a joke of love in doing what she had with Gilbert. That romantic side of her kept trying to tell her that it would all be alright, everything could be fixed, if she could decide that she had been _in love_ with Gilbert all along and that they should _be_ together. But _that_ would be making a joke of love! It would be cruel. It would be so sickeningly wrong to marry the first boy she laid with just so she could play at some fantasy she used to carry around about white wedding dresses and purity and ownership. The part of her that wanted those things was toying with her mind. She worried that she might imagine herself in love with someone and come to regret it.

        The other possibility that she was coming to confront was that she simply enjoyed sex. She believed that there were as many different kinds of love as there were people in the world and sex was something that could be shared between people without having to feel a perfect, romantic, forever type of love for each other. Hypothetically. Yet she knew that the respectability she had always longed for could not coexist with this conviction. If Ms. Stacey wasn’t enough proof, Anne had plenty of perspective on what life could be like for a single, professional woman who was even suspected of having an ‘improper’ relationship with a man. Complete and total excommunication from society. Not even a minister would darken her doorstep to preach hope of redemption. She could never see Diana again. The Cuthberts would be a laughingstock.  Not to mention the thought of possibly raising a fatherless child who would fall heir to her shame.

        These thoughts brought about a lot of shame for Anne, but they brought about resentment, too. They made her think of Mary Lacroix, who deserved so much better than what society had dealt her. And she didn’t really believe that Phil deserved her rejection because she liked having fun with boys. Or Stella for exploring her strange relationship with William Jennings. It didn’t seem like a problem to Anne personally. She understood it, even if it wasn’t what she wanted for herself. What did she want for herself?  Should she live her life so that she was being true to herself or should she determine to live a life of imposed restrictions so that she would be ‘worthy’ of all of her aspirations? She didn’t know what to decide or what to believe. She felt she should avoid any physical relationships until she felt more certain.

        “Can I ask you two a question? And I mean no offense, I’m really curious. Don’t you worry about having a baby?” Anne asked a bit timidly. Phil looked sheepish, embarrassed. Anne had never seen her embarrassed before.

        “Well, I don’t let him go in there,” she smiled with a small shake of her head.

        “Oh. So… what do you do?” Anne looked and asked so innocently when she said it that it was all Phil could do not to kiss her. Phil had developed a little adage to herself since living with Anne. When she would look a certain way or do something adorable, whether it be a display of girlish innocence or of her temper, Phil would say to herself inside her head, ‘I wonder what Gil would pay to switch seats with me right now’.

        “Sometimes we just do things with our hands and mouths. Other times, if I _really_ like him, I let him go in the back way.”

        Pris spit her orange juice out and rushed to clean it up. Only some of the toast was contaminated by the splash.

        “The- the back way,” Anne repeated. She seemed to be lost in thought before asking “Have you let Alec and Alonzo?”

        “Just Alec. Alonzo is much too large. We usually just use our mouths.”

        Pris was coughing fit to give herself an aneurysm while Stella burst into giggled and Anne’s eyes got wider and wider.

        “How does it feel? The back way?” Anne asked.

        “It feels just fine. If you use Vaseline. I’m saving the real thing for my husband. That’s why I can relate to girls like you who choose to wait to do everything until marriage.”

        “I’ve just done the regular way. And he always pulls out,” Stella contributed.

        “But Stella, just pulling out doesn’t work,” Phil told her.

        “It doesn’t?” three voices cried in unison.

        “No! My older cousin used that method when she was married because they both wanted a couple of years to themselves before they started a family. It didn’t work. Same thing with all of my married classmates. My grandmother even warned me,” Phil explained in deadpan. “Apparently it doesn’t matter because some still comes out before he finishes.”

        The girls were quiet as they digested their breakfast and this new information.

        “Well, it’s a good think I use a Lysol douche afterwards,” Stella said anxiously.

        “Stella, don’t do that! It could leave permanent damage,” Pris reached for her shoulder.

        “But I don’t want children. Ever. So all the better if it stops me from ever being able to have any,” Stella shrugged.

        “Well, nevermind all of this talk! All of those types of activities are hereby forbidden from this property, including the garden. Alright? Last will be our little secret. We’re true house sisters now,” Phil announced.

        In the end they wouldn’t have to thwart male callers entirely. Many of Phil’s callers were relation to the people who lived on their street. The presence of those boys never raised an objection. The Gordon girl was from a good family and it was probably for the best that the strapping young nephews and cousins of their clan check in on her after her ordeal with the prowler. They were the sort who could honorably see in on their wellbeing from time to time. The boys from their new and improved science study group were able to be snuck on to their list of acceptable visitors, much to their relief.

        When Monday rolled around Gilbert sought her out first thing. How did he know where her first class was?

        “Anne, can I talk to you for a minute?” he pulled her aside before entering the English building.

        “What is it?”

        Was everything alright? Had he heard word about Ruby?

        “I heard what happened Friday night- No one else knows,” he reassured her when her head whipped around to see if anyone was within earshot. “William only told me. And trust me, he won’t be telling anyone else. No one else will find out. Anne, I just wanted to assure you,” he looked deeply into her eyes and clenched his jaw, “that it is never going to happen again. I will personally see to it. William isn’t going to be pulling anything like that at Patty’s Place again. I’m sorry for what you must have gone through.”

        Anne lowered her eyes and sighed before looking back up at Gilbert.

        “It was quite a shock, I’ll admit. And I am angry that they put the rest of us at risk… But I sympathize with them, too. It must be difficult having to hide something that they’re not ashamed of,” she said softly. Gilbert’s heart skipped a beat.

        “I still don’t know if I can respect the sneaking around…” He ran his hand through his hair and looked away. She stole a glance at his jaw line before he turned back to her. “Anne, are you free later this evening?”

        “Well, I was just going to do my homework and study. We’re getting back our Geometry tests today so that might determine how much I need to study Geometry tonight,” she gave a nervous laugh which he matched.

        “Well, if you’ll be home would it be alright if I came by later? We could go walking,” he tested lightly. She couldn’t think of a good enough reason to tell him no.

        “I don’t see why not,” she managed, forcing a smile. She didn’t like where she thought this might be going.

        “Great. I’ll see you later,” he smiled, with just a hint of nervousness, and turned to leave.

        Anne had been studying manically for the Geometry test, motivated by her professor’s blatant sexism. She was going to prove once and for all that she was just as smart as any boy. So when Anne received her test back and it was marked with a pernicious D she momentarily forgot how to breathe. Between everything she had been thinking about since Friday night regarding her convictions on sexual autonomy in conflict with her sense of obligation to the conservative values of her society she hardly had the emotional energy for this turn of events. She was already in the middle of a sexual moral crisis, now she had to be hit over the head with meeting the Geometry teacher’s stereotype about her gender? She had failed at something she had centered her identity on: Her intellect. Would her aspirations be barred from her even _if_ she played by society’s rules? Being an educator, travelling, creating, contributing to the world… It seemed there was already a limit to what she hoped she could achieve in this life for all the same reasons she almost forfeited her chance to live with the Cuthberts. Her anatomy. It seemed that one missing appendage would cost her so much of the potential that she was beginning to doubt she had in the first place. Normally, her belief that she could do anything bolstered her but just now all of her doubts were winning.

        Her Geometry professor had stated to the entire room very matter-of-factly that women’s brains weren’t as good at mathematics as men. If she could have only shown him! If she could score the highest of all her classmates! If she could lead her year in Geometry… but she couldn’t. All her determination and studying couldn’t get her an A. It stung worse than when Mr. Phillips had called her a boy in front of Gilbert and everyone when her hair had been cut short. She was one more irrational woman with stunted intelligence. Rather rage than despair, Anne devoted herself to her other subjects.

        English would be hers by hell or high water. She could top Latin and Greek with rote memorization and an iron will. Ms. Stacey’s old ‘flashcard’ trick would help her there. She doodled and colored in visual images on many of the letters. Two years ago at Aunt Jo’s soiree she had been taught by a lovely poet, Lu Ying Yue, that the characters of the Chinese alphabet were really just pictures. She tried a similar effect with her Latin and Greek, stretching her letters for the word makros out so the word looked very long. In her Latin she drew a little man in the letter ‘I’ when it appeared as a first person singular perfect indicative in active forms of verbs. Hours passed as she worked on her new study tools, and before long she had worked through dinner.

        After all, the second semester was when Anne really felt she must buckle down if she intended to win the English Scholarship. She had only mentioned it once, but she had a secret goal of winning multiple scholarships. She hadn’t needed to touch most of Matthew’s and Marilla’s money for her first year in college once she and Gilbert both won the Avery scholarship. It was her dream to achieve so highly that she might never have to touch a penny of what was theirs. In her fantasies she graduated Redmond will full honors, winning enough scholarships to pay for most of her degree. What she didn’t win she could earn from working in the summers.

        When she finally had her degree in hand she would begin working in a school, fulfilling her ambition to touch young people’s lives, hopefully causing a ripple effect that would change whole families and communities and even the world. Why, one of her young students could be the next prime minister. She would attend his or her swearing in, tears welling in her eyes as she listened to their speech, thanking her for making it all possible. She would set up a modest little home for herself filled with friends, books, warm drinks, and fresh flowers and send the rest of the money to Green Gables so that they could hire another farm hand. Matthew could stop working so hard. What feeling could be more satisfying than coming home to visit the Cuthberts, comfortable in their dotage thanks to her support? On that day they would know that every sacrifice, their decision to make her part of their family, all of the work it had taken them to raise her, was all worth it.

        By then she would have it all figured out. By then she would stop aching for the loss of her abbreviated childhood, she would reconcile all the conflicts that were currently swirling against each other in her soul. Looking back on the personal progress she had made on her character since becoming a Cuthbert gave her a sense of pride in herself and yet she seemed filled with more self doubt than ever. She was proud that her emotions had become a lot more stable. She didn’t ramble on, talking about every thought in her mind anymore, opening herself up to everyone she met. Though her heart was still unabashedly on her sleeve, she had become a bit quieter. It seemed sweeter somehow to keep her flights of fancy a secret to herself and to contemplate things alone. She found she could channel all of her emotions into her creative hobbies. She had tried painting and even sculpting but she took to it about as well as she had drawing years ago. No good. She really wanted to be good at music and she had convinced Diana to teach her the basics of piano but it just wasn’t her strong suit. Practice never enticed her. She had found a sort of slice of musical fulfillment in her life with her little ukulele. It seemed less daunting and far more casual than other instruments.

        Her vanity was still an obstacle. Being considered plain and unfortunate looking her entire life, even by those who loved her the most, was all she had ever known. Now that she was getting much more male attention, and her so called ‘beauty’ praised genuinely by others, Anne was ashamed to admit that she liked it. She never kidded herself that she was anything close to beautiful, but it was an alien experience having admirers ask if they could call on her some evening. Anne always discouraged them. None of them exactly swept her off her feet, and she still hadn’t decided how she felt about physical relationships. All she knew was that she was in no hurry to rush into one. It was while she was lost in contemplation and flashcard doodling that she heard a knock at the door. Pris answered it and soon Anne was disturbed from her reveries by the realization that Gilbert had said he was going to drop by this evening.

        She rushed to the door and grabbed her coat and winter things.

        “Where are we walking out in the sleet and snow?” she asked as she donned her scarf.

        “Not the streets, they’re filthy with grey slush. What if we just walk around the back garden?”

        They walked around back from the front yard so that Gilbert didn’t have to clean off his boots superfluously. Anne led him through the little orchard and Gilbert mindlessly checked the little fruit trees for signs of health even in the winter. It was instinctual to the farm boy.

        “Have you heard from Bash and Mary lately?”

        “I got a letter from him just a few days ago. He says that Mary has tea with Marilla once a week and that the Cuthberts appear to be in fine health,” he told her, glancing for her reaction. He was rewarded with a tender smile.

        “That’s very kind of her. I don’t hear from Jerry very frequently and Marilla would never tell me if either of them were in poor health.”

        “It must be difficult for you to be away from them like this.” He could only imagine the dilemma he would have faced going to college if it meant leaving his father at home alone. The circumstances were different, and he didn’t want to make that comparison for Anne, but it helped him empathize.

        “It is,” she admitted. “I think about them all the time. I wonder if it was a mistake to leave them… But,” she seemed so sad there for a moment and he wanted to come closer to her, then she seemed to buck up. “I know that neither of them would want me to feel this way. They want me to fulfill all of my potential. So do I.” There it was again. That worry etched on her face that he wanted to smooth away.

        “Because they love you; They believe in you, too.”

        Gilbert was coming closer to her. He was reaching for her hand. Anne swept away and made for the birdbath, feigning interest in the frozen water. They were in the back now, sheltered from view among the hibernating landscape of the garden.

        “Then I shall endeavor to ensure that they don’t regret it!” she said too cheerfully. Gilbert was just behind her now. Too close.

        “Anne, don’t tell me that you’re suffering from self-doubt. You’re well aware of how smart you are, you never let me forget it,” he chuckled. Against her will she chuckled with him, turned her head just over her shoulder to meet his eyes, a shy blush staining her cheek in the February evening air. This was magic hour. The most beautiful light in the whole day. Every shade of Anne’s vibrancy came out in this light. Every freckle stood out, her skin was milkier, the red of her lips and her cheeks were the ripest colors, her hair reflected every shade of the sunset, and her eyes… Her vivid, sparkling eyes that had ensnared him the moment he had first seen them flickered like stars. It made him catch his breath to see her this way.

        “Anne, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

        His look of utter vulnerability made her face fall. His hand was on the crook of her elbow and he was turning her to face him. His hand slid down her arm until it captured her own.

        “Gilbert, I-“

        “Please. Please let me say what I need to say.”

        “I don’t- _I can’t-_ “

        “You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet,” he scoffed, hurt.

        “Gilbert, don’t-“

        “I have to, Anne. You don’t know how crazy it’s made me already.”

        “No,”

        “Anne, please, let me finish. Please? Just give me that.” He took a deep breath. It had already gone south but he had started this and he had to finish it. “I’m in love with you,” he breathed. A weight was lifted and yet he felt exposed and frightened.

        “Gilbert…”

        “You know I do. I’m so in love with you, Anne. I can’t tell you how much. Could you consider being my wife one day?” He was laid bare before her, eyes filled with hope. She couldn’t stand to look at him one second longer.

        “Gil, _no. Please_ don’t do this. I can’t.”

        “Do you think there’s a chance… that you could ever love me? Because I would wait. ”

        “Gil, I’m sorry, but I can never, _ever_ love you in that way. And I like you better than any boy I know. You must never speak of this to me again. I want our friendship-“

        “Our friendship? What about what happened between us, Anne?” She swung around and her eyes flashed.

        “You promised to forget!”

        “I promised to try. I did try, Anne. How can I forget?” He was standing so close now that she had to crane her neck to look into his smoldering eyes.

        “Gilbert, you’re confusing what happened between us for- for _love._ ” She couldn’t have hit him harder with a physical blow. He stumbled back.

        “What do you call it, Anne? What we gave each other, what we shared?” He seemed furious now, but reigned in. She was almost afraid but she had to stand her ground.

        “A mutually enjoyable exchange between two old rivals turned friends on the cusp of their college career.”

        “A mutu- _Are you kidding me!?_  What does that even mean?”

        “Keep your voice down!”

        “Anne, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t feel something,” he was crouching, trapping her with his hands on her shoulders. She was trying to look anywhere but his eyes.

        “Obviously not what you felt.”

In the long silence that followed she hid her face from his. His hands dropped from her shoulders and when she finally looked at him she regretted it. His face was completely colorless and he looked as though he’d just aged ten years.

        “I guess not… But you enjoyed yourself-“

        “Gilbert! I can’t believe- How dare you.”

        “Did you or did you not enjoy yourself? Don’t lie. I was there, remember?” He was sneering, invading her space again. “You can fake a lot of things Anne,” his mouth was against her ear, “But you can’t fake the way your body responded to mine.”

        She wrenched herself away and grappled for breath, beginning to hyperventilate. He was still there.

        “And before you tell me that it was just some physical response, devoid of emotion, do you think I could forget the way you cried my name- _my_ name- over and over? Or how you licked-“

        “ _Stop!_ ”

        “my semen off your fingers afterwards. I heard you moan. You may not think I heard you but I did-“

        “Stop it, Gilbert-“

        “Or how you cried when I told you how beautiful you are-“

Finally her pleas for him to stop his verbal assault on her dignity reached his ears when it was apparent that she was sobbing. He stopped in his tracks.

        “Anne, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I just don’t understand. You tell me that I’m your very best friend and you clearly enjoy being intimate with me. What am I missing?” He stood, arms out in surrender. Anne tried to compose herself through her sobs to reply. It was killing him to know that the idea of being with him was the cause.

        “Gilbert, please. I’ve already admitted that that night was a mistake. I don’t know what more to tell you. I never would have suggested it had I known… All I can tell you, Gil, is that I found the experience very sentimental but I don’t see it the same way you did. It is normal to be confused with feelings afterwards, to think that you might be in love with me. It was an emotional thing, what we did, but that emotion isn't love. A farewell to childhood.”

        He laughed with such bitterness it gave her chills.

“Anne, I have been in love with you _long_ before you asked me to make love to you.” She sputtered. She was struck speechless by his intense eye contact, by his confidence in labeling what they had done together so boldly, but especially by his confession. “I won’t pretend it was something I never thought about, but I have always had every intention of asking you to marry me first. So whatever else you decide, you should know that it’s _you_ I love, not just how you made me feel.” The tears that fell down her cheeks were angry now.

        “And you didn’t think I deserved to know that before going through with it? When I first asked you? Or any time before? You deceived me into thinking we were on equal terms about that evening. I wouldn’t have gone through with it had I known you think you’re in love with me. I picked you _because_ I knew there would be no danger of developing romantic feelings!”

        One arrow after another straight into his heart until he didn’t think he could keep standing through another one. He looked at the ground as he got his bearings. After a moment he sighed and looked up at her again. Her defensive posture immediately hurt him again.

        “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry. You’ve made your feelings clear, I’m sorry I pushed the issue. I was sure that you must have felt something but I was mistaken. I’ll never bring it up again.” He turned to leave, putting his hat back on.

        “Gilbert, we’ll still be friends, right? Gilbert? Please.”

He stopped in his tracks and almost turned around. He laughed that bitter laugh again that pierced her to the bone.

        “Friends. Of course.”

        He continued until he was out of her sight and Anne sat down in the snow to sob uncontrollably. She was out there well into dark when Pris dragged her inside to change to dry clothes and sit by the fire with an apple cider. She had met Gilbert at the door and she had found Anne crying in his wake. She must have an idea of what happened, and plenty of questions aside but she never asked them. Stella came back from the library before long and seemed to notice that Anne was out of sorts. Phil came in from a dinner with a gentleman friend and before long Anne had to go to bed to avoid unwanted attention. Rusty leaped onto the bed with her and made grunting meow noises at her hair until she turned to face him. He cuddled into her shoulder and purred. As Anne relived and sorted through the trauma of her conversation with Gilbert, the utter desolation on his face and the sad but hungry way he taunted her with remembrances about their night together, she wept until she had run out of tears. Things had changed forever between them and she was still convinced that it was all his fault.

        “Did Gilbert propose?” Phil was suddenly at her door, meek as a lamb. She didn’t reply, opting instead to bury her face in her pillow. “Why did you say no?” She twisted her head to look at Phil sharply.

        “Why would I say yes? If I can never love him?”

        “Anne, you’re lost and you don’t know your own mind. And that’s coming from _me_ ,” Phil hectored her.

        “Phil, please leave me alone for awhile,” Anne barely had any energy left to sigh out her request. It was honored and Anne drifted into her mind, looking for the same haven she had built and inhabited during her times as a child. Tonight in the coziness of her room in Patty’s Place she found she felt an awful lot like she had back in those nights at the asylum and her foster homes, struggling to hope for the future.


	18. Manifesting Your Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a spell. Work, relationship breakdowns, grief, anxiety/depression, and the holidays! Anything else? The good news is I am in a great place right now and am getting creative again. Seriously. If you knew the roundabout way I have come back to this story you would stand and applaud at how hard I fought to get here. No, I am not giving up. In fact my brain has been flooded with many of the missing pieces for Into Understanding. I am 70% of the way to knowing the ending, which I could not say before. I am very excited for some of the things coming in this story. A lot more things are clear, a lot of blanks have been filled in with cool shit, I just need to keep on with it. 
> 
> Thanks for understanding. And I do apologize for leaving you hanging. I count on your support and I fed off of it while leaving you frustrated. I remain committed to seeing this through. If you see me post some other fics on here, don't worry. I am working out other headcanons and fulfilling backlogged gifts and it is all helping my creativity for this story, too. Sorry it's short, but it is what it is. I will work on keeping them coming.

Gilbert rolled over on the old mattress in his boarding house bedroom, his body stiff and sore from laying awake in it too long. Sleep had somewhat evaded him for the past 15 days, ever since Anne… ever since he spoke to Anne. He couldn’t seem to get the tangle of memories out of his mind. The look in her shining, watering eyes when he called her beautiful, naked in his arms. The pure love he saw there. The look of disgust and horror, the way she recoiled from him as he recounted it to her. Her distaste for him all around...

 

He was under the weather. That’s what he told his roommates, anyway. Whether or not they had believed him he neither knew nor cared so long as they left him alone.

 

It occurred to Gil with a pang that this was the most pain he had been in since his father died. How was that possible? What did it mean for him? He squeezed his eyes closed and released a haggard breath. In a moment everything had changed. _No more Anne._

 

Time slipped away for awhile as he lay listening to the rhythm of his heart beating. Would he feel it slow down to a stop? The pain felt strong enough. Despite his best efforts he spent hours re-analyzing memories of Anne that should have been spent sleeping. How did she think of him, truly? She wasn’t being totally forthcoming, and yet her distress over his suit couldn’t have been more sincere. She assured him that things were hopeless. _Hopeless._ This wasn’t like those other times over the years that his dreams had seemed in jeopardy. This was it. She was resolute.

 

It didn’t matter that she had felt lust for him at one point. It didn’t matter that she had felt ‘sentimental’ about making love with him. Or that she had been so trusting and open and _loving_ with him. So sweet, angelic, romantic and _intimate_. Or that they were perfect for each other. Or that other men were intimidated by her immensity while he was in thrall to it. It didn’t matter that she needed someone who would worship her but also stand up to her when she was being stubborn. Someone who would promote her. To give of himself if necessary to maximize her and never to diminish her. It didn’t matter that the minute she walked into his life he had changed forever. That she had awakened something dormant inside himself that he might never have met otherwise. That she changed the way he thought and saw the world in more ways than he could count. That he felt as at home in her silences as he felt galvanized by her vivacity. None of that mattered. Only that she said no. No. All the rest could turn to ash. She didn’t want him, never would. Her words...

 

Of course she had the audacity to be hurt when he avoided her after that. Of _course_ she felt he ought to have gotten over this crush by now and resumed their friendship. She practically said as much when she cornered him about skipping their Science study group. He wanted to talk to his father… Why hadn’t he made more friends last semester? He had a lot of friendly acquaintances. Back when football was in season he was more preoccupied and he socialized more. He needed something to fill the void. He had invested so much time into Anne that he had isolated himself from a lot of potential friends on campus. It hadn’t seemed so perilous at the time, when he had hope… But now he felt drained of life. He had really only ever wanted two things. Now that it was evident that a future with Anne was not in the cards for him he needed to hold on even tighter to the other one. Maybe then, once he was a doctor, Anne would see him differently. Maybe he would seem more worthy to her.

 

He had wanted to ask her what he could have done differently, where he had gone awry. After years of calculating every interaction with her as to not scare her away, as to impress her, bond with her, amuse her, endear himself to her, he needed to know what he had done wrong for his own sanity. But he wasn’t fool enough to push the matter further. He had already seemed to traumatize her with his desperation- The shame felt like a physical blow. How could she expect to go back to a thin facade of a friendship after the words he had seethed at her, as she tried to tear away from his grip- He was going being sick. Really. Gilbert launched himself off the bed and made it to his basin just in time.

 

“Gil? You alright, Bud?” he heard from Charlie Sloane’s side of the room.

 

“I’m fine,” Gilbert heaved.

 

“You sure?” Charlie seemed concerned. He was a better friend than Gilbert gave him credit for. He should value in his friendships more. “You’re not contagious are you?” Gilbert laughed darkly and reassured him. He collapsed back into bed, hoping he was finally exhausted enough to sleep. The only relief for his grieving mind was to imagine that Anne might change her mind. Not just to hope it, but to imagine it. She had taught him how to imagine life better than it was to survive the dark times. With bitter sadness he reflected that the hopes he harbored about being the one to coax out her deep rooted wounds and heal them were all over now, too. At every turn he found another dream extinguished with the loss of Anne from his future. He knew he was drawing out the pain, imagining she might come around. That he should accept it now and begin the healing process. But he was exhausted from lack of sleep and the only thing that brought his mind peace enough to rest were fantasies of unspoken feelings on Anne’s part.

 

He could see her now. She would be awake at Patty’s Place. Despondent, ever since she turned him down. The past 15 days had given her ample opportunity to see what her life would be like without him in it. She missed him. She made that clear. When he expressed that he could not go back to the way things were she probably felt she had a choice to make. Live a life without him in it or confront any possible feelings that she may be hiding, even from herself. Was it possible that that is what she had been doing ever since? Sitting vigil in her room, examining her heart for the truth of what he truly meant to her? Was it too much to hope? While he was dreaming he could at least make it interesting.

 

She would be in tears, tossing in her bed, her blankets tangled all around her legs, shifting her nightgown up to her hips. Her cute little nose would be red, lip trembling, and her pale brow drawn in anguish. Maybe in her fitfulness her arms would stretch above and her head, her back arching as she wriggles around. Disturbed by her ruminations. She was always her own worst critic, far too hard on herself, and he knew she would be chastising herself for chasing him away. He already wanted to draw her to himself and begin the work of comforting and reassuring her. He had always been more mature than her, but that was to be expected with her past, and he knew it would take patience as she sorted out her feelings. How many times over the years had she snapped at him only to come, hat in hand, apologizing to him with those huge, blue eyes shimmering? Maybe that is what would happen this time, too. He sighed at the thought. There was nothing to forgive. He had made his move too early, been coarse and ugly. Was 15 days enough time? If this hypothetical best case scenario were to come true, when might it? When would enough time pass for him to safely say that this scenario was no longer a possibility? A month? A year? He could wait forever if he had hope. What if it was tonight?

 

What if while he was there languishing for her, she was languishing for him? What if she, like him, couldn’t stand one more night this torment? What if Anne, desperate to close the distance between them, tore out of her bed at this late hour and ran across the neighborhood and pounded on his boarding house door _within the hour_ (propriety the last thing on her beautiful, unfettered mind) demanding to see him? He could see her now. Her arms holding her coat tightly closed, hair messed and wild, eyes filled with need and sorrow. Would he hold her and kiss her there in front of the house matron and the peanut gallery watching from their windows? If she let him, yes. He was getting drowsy, his grief at bay for the moment. Tomorrow he would stop fantasizing about a future that would likely never be, but for now he just wanted to sleep…

 

And yet the very real pounding at the front door was compelling enough for him to forget he wanted to sleep as he waited for the landlord or his wife to answer it. He heard it again. His heart was hammering against his chest. He lay totally still as the unmistakably irritated sounds of his landlady, Mrs. Kluber, made their way across the back of the house downstairs to the front door. Not that it would be Anne. Of course not. And yet… Who was it? It sounded like a woman! Gilbert felt as though he had been holding his breath ever since that first knock, it had been coming shallow enough. It didn’t let up until the sound of footsteps traveled up the stairs stopped in front of his door and knocked. His heart now felt as though it were leaping a foot with each beat. He lay frozen. Another knock. Charlie swore under his breath but made his way to the door. Mrs. Kluber’s lamplight cut through the dark of the room and Gilbert couldn’t help but think of the old lighthouse on the bluff in Avonlea.

 

“Master Blythe?” she grumbled. Charlie turned and saw that his eyes were open. That’s all the signal he needed to go back to bed without another word. Gilbert was frozen, his eyes wide. It couldn’t be. Did he will this? Of course not. It might not even be Anne downstairs for him. Though the voice was feminine… Only Mrs. Kluber’s wrath snapped him out of his stupor.

 

“I don’t know what young ladies you associate with that think it’s appropriate-” he could barely hear a word she said as he trembled to don his robe. He thought of going for his trousers but decided they could wait. He was almost to the door when he changed his mind and went back to pull on the trousers hanging on the back of his chair. He only noticed his feet were bare as sped down the cold stairs. His heart was in his throat as he waited to see the figure on the other side of the door.

 

No hope could have prepared him for the reality of Anne standing there before him, arms wrapped around herself protectively, gripping her coat tight. Her hair was a stunning mess. Her face was wet, eyes swimming in sorrow. Her nose was red and her lip was trembling. Just as he imagined. She was here. It had taken 15 days but she was here. He teetered on the edge of wrapping her up in his arms, waiting for the word.

 

“Anne? What is it?” He probably didn’t blink as he waited for her to speak, to gesture, to rush into his arms. Anything. His hand twitched upward but he stopped it. She wasn’t flinching. She was trying to keep it together, that much was clear. Her tears kept spilling down her cheeks, silent but for the occasional sniff. He hadn’t willed this. _They_ had. Hadn’t he always believed them to be of the same mind? What if the strength of their love made it possible to hear each others thoughts? What if he had actually been hearing her cry for him all the way across the neighborhood? The image he had of her in her bed had been so vivid…

 

“Ruby died.”

 

It was as a bucket of cold water to him. He swayed in stunned silence, his eyes wide in shock.

 

“Tonight. I just got a telegram from Diana. We have to go home.” At that she dissolved into tears, stepping forward and reaching for him. His body responded without thinking, holding her close, heedless of anything but her reach.


End file.
